


The Unrelenting Shadow

by Gnewna



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: All my Heroes are related probably, Autistic Dragonborn, Awful ex, Badass older Altmer, Ex-Thalmor Dragonborn, F/M, Found Family, Good soft lads, Good supportive friends being super hecking kind to a distressed autistic Dragonborn, Gray Cowl of Nocturnal (Skyrim), Great Auntie Hero of Kvatch, Hecking healthy relationships, Interesting NPCs (Skyrim), Kaidan (Skyrim), Lucien goshdarn Flavius, Lydia has a background (Skyrim), Modded Skyrim, More OCs than you can shake a stick at (not all my own), Nerevarine Grandma, Past (historic) torture (no graphic details), Past (recent) torture (no graphic details), Past Abuse, Past sexual assault (no graphic details), Straag Rod, Study Buddies, The Unrelenting Shadow, You're All I Need (fic title)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:34:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 129
Words: 207,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23359336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gnewna/pseuds/Gnewna
Summary: After finding herself abandoned to an unexpected fate at Helgen, a hastily-chosen alias and membership of a certain guild have more impact than Nerussa would have expected. Also I hate writing summaries.
Relationships: Eventual secondary pairings, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn & Lucien Flavius, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn & Lydia, Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn & Original Character(s), Female Dovahkiin | Dragonborn/Kaidan, Lydia (Skyrim)|Sylgja (Skyrim)
Comments: 75
Kudos: 44





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

_It was not the first dream she had... received, concerning the Youngling. But it was certainly the most vivid. Her mind's eye saw all of Tamriel, and the blue oceans surrounding it. The image blurred a moment, and she saw a mountainous region – clearly in the North. Well, that was unsurprising. Blurred again, and she saw a wooden carriage, slowly following several others along a steep mountain road. Three human men, Nords, she supposed, sat – one gagged, one miserably looking at his knees, and the third focused on the sleeping Youngling herself. Her girl. In over her head, as Aurelin had always known she would end up, as she had in her day. It had been hard, not interfering when she was sent to that Provincial position. Hard to see her grandaughter walk into what was so clearly a trap. But she could no more stop the girl than she could have stopped Baar Dau from finally striking Vivec City._

_"Hey, you. You're finally awake!"_

_And so, frustratingly, was Aurelin._

**Chapter 1**

"Running a little light in the pockets, lass?"

The High Elf's face was mostly hidden by a dark, grubby hood, but he could see well enough that she was scowling, her face still pointed resolutely toward the last of the bread she had been picking at for the last hour. Keerava had even dunked it in the stew pot for her, a real sign someone was down on their luck, if Keerava felt badly for them.

"I don't know what you mean, I'm the queen of bloody Glenumbra," she snapped, "can't you tell from my fine garb?"

"Ah, terribly sorry, your majesty. I am sadly out of touch with the latest fashions, you'll forgive me for not knowing that brown leather, chainmail and... scraps of hastily cut-away blue fabric are currently all the rage in Daggerfall. I beg your pardon most humbly."

An irritable grunt, followed by, as anticipated, "...and what if I am low on coin?"

"Well, I just might have a way of changing that. You see, I've got a bit of an errand to perform, but I need an extra pair of hands. And in my line of work, extra hands are well paid. If you're interested, meet me in the marketplace, first thing." He glanced over at the Argonian behind the bar. "I'm sure if you ask nicely, Keerava can find you a bed for the night, you can pay her when I pay you."

She watched him leave as best as the stiff leather hood allowed without changing her posture. From what she could recall of her briefing, she was unlikely to encounter anyone who knew her in this part of the province, but it seemed wise to remain cautious. She'd had no idea which direction she had been running after parting ways with the yellow-haired Nord (Ralof? She needed a notebook, badly. Best not to forget the names of potential assets.) Not until the sun had begun to set. 

By that time, her feet had gone past pain into unpleasant numbness, although the pain was returning now, and worse than before. The armour she had pulled from another Nord's body weighed more than anything she had ever worn, certainly more the black and gold ceremonial armour they had worn at the Establishment ceremony. She supposed one could not expect fine metalwork from brutish Men, but the heap of leather and chain surely could not be conducive to sneaking around as the ones she had 'accidentally' blundered into had been attempting to do? Mind you, they hadn't questioned what an Altmer was doing in the midst of them, so evidently she had not been misinformed as to the quickness of their wits.

She had started the journey with a knapsack – taken, like the hood, from an Imperial torturer – crammed with items she had hoped to sell, but as the day had worn on and the pack felt heavier and heavier, she had abandoned almost all of it. Only a single healing potion, a silver amulet, and a slender spell tome – not an overly complex spell, she thought, but hopefully of some use – had remained by the time she found herself at the city gate of Riften, almost – but not quite – too exhausted to argue with the guard who tried to shake her down for a bogus 'gate tax'. She had spent some time back in the fortress arguing with herself as to whether she should strip a set of clearly-enchanted robes from a corpse in a cage. They would have been extremely useful if she had been able to find a laundress prepared to clean them, although given the state of this city, she was pretty sure nobody would be able to get them nearly clean enough to overcome the revulsion. 

Admittedly, the armour had also come from a corpse, but that one had still been warm. The mage in the torture chamber had evidently died some time before, and by the smell when she had reached in to take the spell tome, he had befouled himself at least once before the end. 

She finished the last mouthful of bread, and tried to focus her thoughts. She needed to work out what had gone wrong this morning. She didn't want to believe the First Emissary had intentionally allowed her to be sent to the block, but she could not risk running into most of her colleagues until she was sure, which meant finding one of the few she was sure she could trust, or at least, who wouldn't go out of their way to turn her over. S would be the ideal choice, but he was mainly stuck in the Embassy at present, so it might have to be O. 

She desperately wanted to remove the boots she was wearing, but first she would need to somehow stand long enough to speak to the innkeeper. She was working herself up to it when a second Argonian appeared in front of her.

"You want something to drink? No?" He turned towards the bar for a moment. "Listen, you look like you've had a day from Oblivion. It's past midnight, and we have a room empty – if you need a bed, just for tonight, it's yours."

She stared up at him, unable to make any words come out. She nodded and got to her feet, the knapsack trailing from her hand. The Argonian introduced himself, but she was close to shutting down and all her focus was going into remaining upright. She would have to ask again in the morning. He showed her to the room, which was oddly-shaped and barely big enough for the bed. Still, it had a bed, and while the blanket was rather motheaten, it was clean, and fairly soft, and quite easily the best thing she had felt all day. She pulled off the armour and the boots, and nearly threw up. Her feet were bleeding, blistered, and had a strange smell. She suddenly remembered hearing about members of the lesser ranks during the First War, those who spent a great deal of time traipsing around the swampy regions in the south of Cyrodiil, developing some kind of fungal growth on their feet from the continuous damp. She shuddered, and did her best to dry her feet on the ragged tunic she still had on. Trying very hard not to cry, she reached into her pack for the potion.

***

Things felt, as things often do, a little better in the morning. A jug of hot water, some clean cloths and a small but wonderful bar of soap had been discreetly pushed into the room, surely not long before she woke, and she was glad to be able to wash herself, feet first, naturally. They had healed quite well, although the pain wasn't entirely gone, but she could deal with that, she hoped. 

She had no intention of meeting the red-haired Nord in the marketplace that morning. Until she remembered that she had no idea how else to earn any coin, and no way of paying for either the last night's rest, or anything to eat. Oghma's tits. If her Senna could see her now... She put the armour back on, trying not to notice the awful feeling of the chainmail trying to pinch her skin through the nasty, rough tunic. Gods, what she wouldn't give for something clean to wear. And some fresh, warm bread. And an orange. She could almost cry at that thought. Did they even bring oranges to this dreadful, cold, lumpy land? She ran her hands over her face for a moment, pulled on the awful boots, which had – miraculously – dried fairly well overnight, and stood.

***

For some reason, the red-haired fool wanted her to steal a ring from one stallholder and plant it on another's person. Sounded like child's play. The man started some spiel about "falmer blood elixir", clearly a nonsense concoction designed to separate fools from their money, but apparently everyone in the market was, indeed, a fool, as they all left their stalls to listen to the Nord. Well, that, or they were all doing a very good job of hiding their laughter. He was a strange one, for certain, charming in a rough, foolish, human sort of way, and could probably have made an adequate living on the stage. Did they have theatre in Skyrim? Gods, they probably didn't. In any case, it had been clear enough, even in the state she had been in last night, that his 'line of work' was clearly something unsalubrious, and she had been fairly relieved to find out it was only thievery and dubious schemes.

She had panicked and told him her name was 'Nerussa'. Still more shaken than she had realised, she hadn't thought to prepare an alias, and she could hardly use any of her usuals. Nerussa was, she vaguely remembered, the name of an older She-Elf she had met once, during the repatriation process. After the First War had made life uncomfortable for many Altmer in Cyrodiil. She had rather liked the woman – a publican, she thought – but it wasn't exactly a name she would have picked, given more time. His was, he told her, "Brynjolf", which even by Nord standards, sounded daft. She had managed not to laugh in his face, at least.

The Argonian jeweller crossed his arms, frowned, but finally shrugged his shoulders and stepped out from behind his stall to jostle with the rest of the crowd. She sidestepped as subtly as she could in several pounds of chain and leather, and crouched down. The lockpick she had brought from the fort was in her hand, and she slid the point of a knife the Nord had given her into the other part of the lock. She was so intent on listening for the tell-tale 'click' of a tumblr falling into place that she didn't hear the guard approach.

At least she didn't have to worry about where to sleep that night.

***

Not that she slept much. The cell was cold, and the wall by the bed was damp to the touch, making it hard to relax enough to sleep, for fear of waking up touching the clammy stones. Then there were the inmates of the nearby cells, an obsequious Nord in the cell facing hers, another reason to find it harder to sleep. The cell next to her was occupied by a Nord woman, who yelled protestations of innocence, interspersed with some rather creative profanities, every time a guard passed by. Nerussa – she'd given that name to the guards as well, so it seemed she was stuck with it – couldn't quite see into the farthest cell from hers, but every so often she thought she caught fragments of a one-sided conversation with someone called... "Mr Dragonfly"?

She was angry with herself for getting caught, but to tell the truth, she had been uncomfortable with the job, if only because Brand-Shei, the Dunmer 'mark', had been so kind to her when she had blundered into the market place last night, hoping to sell the amulet before looking for somewhere to sleep, or at least disrobe. He had only been able to offer a few coins for it, but had seemed genuinely concerned about the cold, ragged, soggy Altmer before him. Not much like other Dunmer she had encountered, he had said something which explained it, but her memory hadn't exactly been working well at the time.

Still, there wasn't much chance of Brynjolf paying her now, and she had no idea how else to make any money. What did people do for money in a place like this? Come to think of it, what did people do back home if they didn't have a proper job? She rolled over irritably, and shuddered as her arm briefly pressed into the wall. 

Some time later, she fonud herself roughly shaken awake, and her knapsack bundled into her hands. "Time to go, Elf. Your stolen Stormcloak gear has been confiscated, and think yourself lucky we are not asking questions about that. By the Jarl's grace, you have been provided a set of simple clothing, probably won't fit a gangly She-Elf like you so well, but at least you'll be decent, eh? Get dressed, and collect your release paper from the guard at the door."

The 'release papers' might as well have said 'bugger off, and don't do it again', which was about what she expected from Nords, but she was surprised to find a note tucked into the folded sheet.

"Ratway, lass." Brynjolf, then. He must really need extra hands if being caught red-handed hadn't changed his mind. Not that she had a lot of options either. She made what she hoped was a convincingly casual enquiry of an elderly man, begging near the market – one less coin in her pouch... He glared at her, but grudgingly directed her to a rusted gate on the canalside. 

She managed to talk the two thugs lurking just inside into letting her pass, and mostly got past the other denizens of the dank tunnels by sticking to the shadows, glad that the clothing she had been handed was dark and easy to move in. It was also, in fairness, clean and comfortable, more than she would have hoped for judging by the cell. 

She kept a spell readied, just in case, but only needed to use a fear spell in the strangely brightly-lit room immediately before into what appeared to be a tavern. As she rounded the reeking pool of cloudy... water, she fully expected mocking laughter at having turned up at all. Instead, Brynjolf turned with a warm smile and clapped her on the back.

"Colour me impressed, lass – after a night in the cells, I wasn't sure you'd be back for more. How did you find getting to our little establishment?"

"Oh, it was fine, I'm pretty stealthy for my size."

"Reliable and headstrong," Brynjolf grinned, "Your awareness of nearby guards could use work, but I think we can find some more jobs for you. As you say, you're quite an imposing one, adn we need a little intimidation for a few local business owners who don't like paying what they owe..."

Nerussa was back within the hour. She had convinced the pawnbroker by tipping a prized Dwemer urn precariously close to the edge of the counter – she was relieved when he gave in just before she would have let go, her old tutor would never have forgiven her. The rather unpleasant woman in the bunkhouse was easier, all it took was a threat to her idol of Dibella. Keerava was the only one she felt remotely bad about, but at least the job should enable her to repay the Argonian woman.

She was paid with a couple of potions, and a smooth, purple gemstone. An amethyst, she thought, from the milky white threads that ran over its surface. He also, while ushering her through a door into the charmingly named Cistern, slipped a small coinpurse into her pocket.

"Seventy-five of the hundred silver you were promised for the job yesterday. I shouldn't really pay you after you botched it, but it's clear you need the cash, and I think you're a good investment. Don't like being proven wrong, mind! Now, we're going to introduce you to the Guildmaster, Mercer Frey. Just a formality, after that, you should probably introduce yourself to the rest – one or two can give you jobs, or training, and Tonilla, our fence, should be able to find you a set of leathers. Not exactly a uniform, you know, but as you can see, they're all made in a fairly similar style."

***

That night, she recorded the day's events in a journal, bought at quite a discount from Brand-Shei. She had repaid Keerava for the previous night, which seemed to surprise the Argonian, and soften her tone a little. She had to be careful with her remaining silver, though, so after a bowl of rather excellent beef stew and dumplings, she made her way back to the Ragged Flagon to sleep. At least she was able to use the more direct entrance, now, and actually, the Cistern was cleaner than she had expected. 

She had picked up a couple of jobs from a Breton named Delvin, but they were in Whiterun, and she was fairly sure she would need to go there by carriage, if her memory of the maps she had studied was correct. And that meant coin. She had made her way around the city, asking for work, and picked up a few leads – top of the list was what she hoped would be the simplest, a trip to a nearby village to collect a package for the local alchemist. His wife gave her a sheet of paper with simple drawings of a few useful plants to look out for on the way, which could be mixed into simple potions of healing and magicka.

***

The route to Shor's Stone had taken her past a fort with what looked suspiciously like bandits on the ramparts, but it was barely light when she reached the place, and she was able to creep close enough to cast a frenzy spell on one of the two lookous, and slip past as they fell upon each other. 

The village itself was in pretty bad shape. The mine they relied on was out of commission for the moment, due to an infestation of giant spiders. The smith with the package had obviously been hinting that she, an 'adventurous type' might be able to do something about it, but she'd barely made it past the spiders at Helgen, and that was with Ralof doing most of the actual fighting, and hse had no itnerest in any more direct involvement, thank you very much.

On her return to Riften, the alchemist's wife handed her a couple of gold coins, and a small handful of silver and copper. Her husband grudgingly showed her how to combine some of the ingredients she'd harvested into potions and how to prepare a simple salve if she needed healing 'in the field', as he put it. Not as effective as a potion or spell, he said, but it would do the job for minor, inconveniencing wounds that didn't really need a more costly option.

She also spoke to the court wizard, a vague Bosmer who apparently had a habit of leaving her belongings in odd places around the province. Nerussa agreed to look out for some of them, and kept the other She-Elf talking aout some project she was strugglign with, long enough to slip a promising-looking tome off the counter and into her pack.

After picking up some provisions for the journey, she made her way back through the city gate, and appraoched the carraige driver. Frustratingly, he wasn't prepared to go to Whiterun, or anywhere really in the right direction, without a substantial supplement to cover his bed and board for the night, but he did eventually agree to take her to where Helgen had stood, and give her directions on to a place called Falkreath. Fortunately, they arrived at Helgen well before dark, and she left the driver, seemingly paying his respects to the dead, and traipsed downhill toward the city. Aside from having to run from a pair of bandits lurking on a bridge, at least, it wasn't too bad a walk, and the sunset was pretty as she reached the wooden walls of the settlement. She was almost feeling cheerful, she was surprised to realise. She found her way to the local tavern easily enough, and spent the last of her coin on a bed for the night and a plate of meat and potatoes, with some attempt at a wine sauce. She was slightly put out by how delicious it turned out to be. After eating, she pulled the two spell tomes from her bag and smiled at them. It had been years since she had studied magic, and truth be told, most of what she had learned had been forgotten through lack of use. She was a little past a quarter of the way through the first tome, the one from Helgen, mainly from reading on the carriage, although that did make it hard to make notes. She was deep in concentration, quill in hand, when she realised someone was trying, rather apologetically, to get her attention.

She closed the book, reluctantly, and turned to face a young, fair-haired human, barely out of his teens, she thought, although she was far from used to judging human ages. He had a light beard, though, so perhaps a little older? Damn, she was getting stuck in her thoughts, she'd missed whatever it was he'd said.

"What was that? I was still thinking about my book..."

The young man cleared his throat, and launched into a clearly prepared speech. "I said, excuse me, madam, I don't normally do this, but, erm... have you got a moment to talk?" Prepared, yes. Smooth, no.

She swung her leg over the bench so she could properly face the boy, and looked him up and down.

"You do realise what that sounds like, yes?"

He looked blank for a moment, then turned scarlet. "Oh, no! I mean, you're very, um... Attractive? I expect? But no, that's definitely not what I was... Oh, dear, could we perhaps start again? I have a proposition!"

Nerussa found herself biting back a laugh. She wouldn't normally give an Imperial – too tall for a Breton, not brutish enough for a Nord – the time of day, but she had a feeling this one might be... worthwhile.

She arranged her face carefully. "Of course, go ahead."

"Right!" He cleared his through again and launched into, well, an actually fairly well-rehearsed speech this time. "My name is Lucien Flavius. I'm a scientist, philosopher, amateur wizard, and something of a musician, although I suppose that's more of a hobby. I couldn't help noticing that you seem... how can I put this? Well acquainted with the less savoury side... Well, actually, no, not exactly that. But you have the air of someone who's done a jolly good job of staying alive lately, have I got that much right?"

He seemed more confident, now. She looked at him a little more carefully. Quality robes, definitely Cyrodiilic. Similar to what she'd seen in Solitude, but a little newer, perhaps more up to date. Well-groomed, too. Well off, definitely. She was a quick learner, and one or two fo the denizens of the Ratway had felt inclined to give a few pointers on sizing up, as Brynjolf had so charmingly put it, 'marks'.

"You could say that, yes. You mentioned a proposition. Did you need help with something?"

"As a matter of fact, I do! I'm here in Skyrim on an expedition..." Several minutes later, they had come to an agreement which left her with more than enough for at least the next few nights – weeks, probably. She would act as a kind of mercenary, guarding the 'milk-drinker', as he put it, on some adventures around Skyrim. She wasn't entirely sure what kind of adventures he had planned, although it sounded rather as though they might involve investigating ruins. Well, admittedly that would be rather fascinating, especially if they found any Dwemer ones, but she had had to work not to look nervous at the suggestion. It wasn't exactly the kind of work she would have chosen, but then neither was picking pockets and tampering with business records, in fairness. And he seemed affable enough. For a human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a reworking of a story that I started writing in 2015 on the Steam forums, then edited for another fanfic site. The world in my story is very much a modded Skyrim, and lots of awesome new mods have come out in the five years (!) since I started writing Nerussa's story, so there may be the odd little quirk where I really want to keep some aspects of her original playthrough (built around Requiem) while also reflecting my current reboot of her in-game (I never got much past Alduin's Wall/Twilight Sanctum/Saarthal in-game originally) with a very different mod-list. I've also got several more follower mods in my game than I did originally (including some that have only come out recently), and all of them will be having somewhere between a cameo to major supporting character status, depending on how I end up feeling they fit with the story. There's also... a chance the main pairing will shift, so I've removed that tag for the time being. There will definitely be soppy stuff, though, because I am a giant sap. Thanks if you're reading this!


	2. Chapter 2

Lucien had seemed a little disappointed to learn that their first 'adventure' was to be a walk to Riverwood. The simple map he carried didn't show anything especially interesting along the route they planned, but he brightened considerably when they left the tavern, emerging into a warm, sunny morning, and the sound of birdsong. 

"Gosh, you don't seem to hear nearly as many birds in the Imperial City!"

She looked at him for a moment.

"Can you cast any -flesh spells, or should we visit the smithy before we head out?" She was still not entirely sure about the leathers Tonilla had handed her – she planned to replace the jack with a shirt as soon as she could find one – but she did at least feel a little less vulnerable in them. And the boots fit, at least.

An hour or so later, Lucien was looking significantly less of a target, in more ways than one. The smith, reasonably enough, didn't go in much for light armour, but he managed to throw together a simple jack and some sort of kilt from some hides piled behind the forge, after which he vanished into his home, returning with a pair of thin, hide britches. "They were my son's when he was younger," he whispered to Nerussa, "he outgrew them long before he joined up with the Legion... Won't be needing them back, at any rate."

Once they were out of the city, and away from the guards, Lucien fairly bounced with glee. "I look like a bandit! How tremendously macho! I'm a scary bandit! Grrr!"

"Did you just say... 'grr'?"

"Certainly not, Nerussa" he said in a very serious tone. "I exclaimed it!"

***

The walk was a little more eventful than she might have hoped. At first, the main interruptions were from Lucien, pausing to note Points of Interest on his map. Admittedly, that was a rather sensible idea, and she was a little annoyed she hadn't thought of it herself. He also sang. A lot. He did, however, have a pleasant voice – she thought he might well even have had some formal training – but she rather wished she could teach him some proper songs, not all this rubbish about mead and someone called 'Ragnar'.

Unfortunately, the other effect of all the singing was that it drew attention. First from a group of skeletons, not too hard to see off with two sets of hands casting Flames at them. A few wolves, not too difficult either, and then the biggest bloody spider yet. Luckily, a Nord in a dark blue and gold shirt was walking along the road toward them and rushed to help, and between his Stoneflesh and swordplay, and their 'All The Flames' method, they came out of the fight without much worse than sticky armour. One point in the favour of head-to-toe leather, she supposed. The venom would likely have been quite nasty if it had soaked through a set of robes...

The Nord introduced himself as Talsgar the Wanderer and sat companionably on the shore of the lake as they cleaned their gear. When they were done, he insisted on sharing some provisions from his pack. "I don't stay long in any one place, so this is my rare chance to share a little Nord hospitality, you wouldn't begrudge a man that, surely!" Before she knew it, he was teaching Lucien yet another bloody mead song, although it was harder to begrudge it with a mug of the stuff pressed into her hand. It was rather nice, actually. For Nord rubbish.

They made it to Riverwood soon after that, and asked after Ralof. Nobody had seen him, but suggested they speak to his family up at the mill. Nerussa was quietly surprised at her relief when the sister quickly explained – under her breath and after some misgivings – that he was holed up at her house, "probably drinking me dry." The woman, Gerdur, looked around before speaking again.

"Look, I wouldn't normally like to impose on a stranger, but we need to send word to the Jarl, is there any way you could... I can't offer you money, but I've got some healing potions?"

***

They arrived at Whiterun in the late afternoon, the light turning golden over the parched plains and crumbling outer wall as they approached the city gate.

"Halt! The city's locked up until further notice. State your business!"

"Please, sir, we bring news from Riverwood, and my friend here was at Helgen!"

Nerussa bristled a little at Lucien taking over, but she supposed he was, technically, her employer, and on reflection it was a fair bet that the guard would take more kindly to a human than an Elf. Sure enough, he briefly spoke to the other guard by the gate and the two of them opened the gates a little and ushered them inside.

They asked a tall, dark-skinned Imperial woman working a forge just inside the gate for directions. She explained the layout of the city and asked if they would bring a package up to the palace with them. The packaged turned out to be almost as tall as Lucien, although thankfully not as heavy. It still took the two of them to carry it, though – it must be a sword, and they couldn't weigh this much, surely? Perhaps it was all the layers of wadding wrapped around it. Still, they had already agreed, so up the hill they went with the blasted thing. 

The woman had started to say something about them probably wanting to join the Companions – she remembered they were some band of drunk Nord mercenaries – and Lucien had practically dragged Nerussa away before she erupted into laughter at the hilarious joke. 

They made their way through the Wind District, as it was called, where the wealthier citizens and temples could be found. Nerussa thought of the encrypted list of jobs in her journal. Probably something to do once Lucien was asleep, she thought.

Her eyes widened as they reached the town's central square, not because of the large, clearly dying tree, but at the sight of not only a statue of... she couldn't even bring herself to think the name. But a robed figure, openly and loudly preaching about his 'god'. Lucien glanced over his shoulder, also a little shocked, by the look of him, and she hoped her face showed no more than relatively neutral surprise. That was the thing with her face, it showed either everything, in acute detail, or nothing at all.

As they climbed the steps to the palace, arms aching, the priest's words drifted up on the wind. She saw Lucien's grip on the package tighten at some parts, about the Empire doing "worse than nothing". Thankfully, the door of Dragonsreach was beyond the reach of the priest's rantings, and they rested the package against the wall for a few minutes. It gradually dawned on Nerussa that Lucien was angry. His usually cheerful face was like a rock, his lips thin and pinched.

"Are you... all right?" she ventured.

"How dare he! My mother fought in the Great War, you know! The things she saw, the things she won't tell me she saw, the things her friends went through at the hands of those... Those... And to call us toadies! If he knew, if he even knew the half of what we've protected them from..."

He broke off suddenly and looked up at her, face stricken.

"I am so sorry! You're Altmer, I don't want you to think I would assume you're anything like... them."

For a brief, wild moment, she actually considered telling him the truth. All of it. But that would be foolish, especially here. She drew a breath and decided on an almost-truth.

"Look closer at me. See my less-than-golden skin? My eyes? I'm not... Purely Altmer. They hate me, maybe even more than they hate your people."

As she said it, she realised it was probably correct. She had been useful – her language skills in particular had been well-used by several high ranking Thalmor. And for whatever reason, she had outlived that usefulness, so they could revert to despising the quarter of her that was – an open secret – Nord, more than they tolerated the marginally more acceptable parts.

His face fell, and she felt surprisingly bad at the lie by omission, but told herself it was safer for him if he didn't know. At least for now.

He started to say something, but she waved a hand and bent to pick the package up again. The door of the palace swung open, and they entered.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

They left the palace some time later with, for some bizarre reason, a set of heavy steel armour – a 'reward' from the Jarl that she desperately hoped she could sell to the blacksmith without being banished from the Hold, as neither of them had any other use for it. In addition, they found themselves with what Lucien insisted, despite her surely obvious annoyance, on calling An Actual Quest! She could hear the punctuation and capital letters when he said it.

The Jarl had listened closely to everything she had told him, and it was clear her attempt to brush off the precise circumstances of her arrival at Helgen did not go unnoticed. Too shrewd, that one. Then, for some reason, he had brought her to his court wizard to see if she could 'help with a project of his'.

The mage had been frustratingly vague on the project itself, but explained that he needed someone to visit a ruin near Riverwood in search of an ancient stone tablet. Nerussa hesitated, but she could practically feel Lucien's excitement bubbling away behind her, and truth be told, she was a little keen on the idea herself. Although, as she told this Secret-Fire, she was 'out of practice in combat, so would like to take some time to prepare before heading to the Barrow itself.

He seemed impatient, but admitted that the last mercenaries he'd sent had been rather less cautious and, well, had still not returned after several weeks. Lucien somehow talked him into reducing the price of a pair of spell tomes, Healing Hands and Oakflesh, on the grounds that it "really would be in everyone's best interest, you see, if we stood the absolute best possible chance of survival, in order to safely retrieve the important artefact which, by the sounds of it, will be the key to saving the people of this fair city, and everyone in this lovely but, gosh, rather flammable palace you live in. Thank you so much!"

She didn't quite know how to describe the young Imperial in that moment. It was a little like she imagined it might feel to have a Dwemer Centurion reminding you to finish your schoolwork. If the Centurion also looked like a rather bookish young man with cobbled-together leather armour and an ear-to-ear grin.

Still, she had to hand it to him, he saved himself a few hundred Septims, given the outrageous prices of spell tomes in this province. Later, in the tavern, he held out the tomes and asked her to pick which one she wanted. 

She imagined it would be polite to demur, but she knew for sure that she couldn't count on being able to afford more spell tomes any time soon. She had finished the Sparks tome from Helgen, and a quick overview of the Invisibility tome told her it was definitely beyond her current abilities, and she wanted to improve her arsenal as quickly as she could! She picked Healing Hands, reasoning that at least that would be as much for him, and anyone else they could find to go into the Barrow, as for her. Her ability to heal herself was still woefully lacking, of course, beyond the basic Healing Aura that she cast each morning, which at least allowed her body to recover minor injuries if she was able to rest for a few minutes here and there. A proper Healing spell was definitely high on the list of Important Expenditures she planned to add to her journal after dinner. 

It was rather ingenious how spell tomes worked – a combination of imbued knowledge absorbed by the reader, and actual technical information to read, allowing time for the magic to transfer – but it did mean that, sadly, they were much less useful for a second reader. Her Senna had told her that when she was young, spell merchants would simply pass the knowledge of a given spell to the purchaser, which was much more efficient from the customer's perspective, but must have been rather exhausting for busier merchants in guilds and the like. They had also, supposedly, been able to take 'elements' of spells the customer was familiar with and combine them – for a fee, naturally – into new spells. Now that would be useful. She presumed such services could still be procured in Alinor if one had the right connections, but they certainly weren't on offer to anyone who blundered into the right shop, and they were likely beyond the inhabitants of Skyrim. 

Regardless, they ordered a meal from the harrassed-looking barmaid and spent a pleasant enough evening studying, the food going cold on the table between them, but still fairly edible when it was finally remembered. 

***

The following morning, Nerussa asked the innkeeper where a person might enquire if they were looking for paid work. The woman, in her fifties and a little tired around the eyes, passed her a bounty notice, clearly written by... What was his name, the blacksmith's father. Avenicci, that was it! His pompous tone rang through in the wording of the notice, but the pay offered was good. She hoped the two of them could manage to collect it. 

"There's also the notice boards, one outside my front door, and the other about halfway to the city gate. People who don't have, well, the Jarl's funds can put up any smaller jobs they might need doing. Sometimes it's finding stuff they lost, sometimes it's deliveries, sometimes it's, well, more that sort of thing, but a little less so," she gestured at the bounty letter as she finished speaking. Nerussa thanked her, picked up her pack and headed to the door. 

Lucien, of course, had already sprung out of bed half an hour before and gone striding out into the morning, presumably to find some twittering birds to land delicately on his outstretched hand as he practiced his vocal exercises. 

Fine, she felt a little bad about that. He was actually quite pleasant company. She just... wasn't really used to pleasant company, she realised. She didn't really know how to respond to someone who was so openly and astonishingly nice all the time. Well, nearly all of it. She found Lucien by the big dead tree – thankfully the priest was not yet at his spot – talking to an older Nord woman in blue hooded robes. 

"Ah, Nerussa! Please, allow me to introduce you to Danica Pure-Spring, a Priestess of Kynareth! She was explaining to me about the, ah, situation with this tree. It seems the tree needs what I might term an infusion of sap from its parent tree, and I've agreed to venture, when we are able, to find the blade which would allow us to obtain this sap. That is... all right, isn't it?"

She was a little taken aback by that. He had paid her, surely it was up to him what they did? Although she supposed that, while the coin purse he had given her was substantial indeed, it wasn't exactly an ongoing wage, so he wasn't precisely her employer, at least once however many days it might reasonably be said to cover had passed. That cheered her up, somewhat. It had felt strange to be working for such a young human. Well, any human, but especially one who she was fairly certain hadn't even been alive before the First War. She should probably break the habit of calling it that, in case she said it out loud and... Oh, they were both staring at her now, obviously waiting for her to reply. Damn. What had he asked? Oh, yes.

"Oh, yes, that's quite all right, but we do have a few other tasks to complete first, of course. Have you given Lucien the necessary details? Very well, we will certainly include it on our itinerary." Old work habits coming out a little, she thought, as she bade an abrupt farewell to the Priestess and guided Lucien down the hill to the notice board. 

They picked up an assortment of notices, gather this, retrieve that, and one that she supposed was what Hulda had meant by "like that, but less so." The bounty letter had "exhorted bold citizens to tackle the rapscallions of Silver Moons Camp" and the note on the board said something closer to "kick the backsides o' them buggers at Redoran's Retreat, and bring back my Ma's flaming wedding ring, before she kills me for losing it!" 

"Lucien, do you think you have enough gold to pay for an hour or two of archery training? You're a decent mage, but so am I, whereas I'm rotten with actual weapons – might be worth building different skills, if we're going to be doing this kind of work, don't you think?"

"Actually, I was thinking the same thing, Hulda said the proprietor of the Drunken Huntsman might be able to help with that. Although... I was hoping to ask if you could perhaps train me in Destruction magic, some time? I had a look at your notes in the Sparks tome and they really made a lot of sense of some of the finer points that my tutors at the Arcane University never bothered to cover!"

She managed not to say anything withering about Mannish tutors, and agreed amiably enough to the general idea. Lucien headed into the Huntsman, leaving Nerussa with a little time to observe a certain house, and a certain general trader, rather more closely than Lucien might have been happy about.

When they met up again, they asked the blacksmith about the two bandit camps they needed to visit, and she helpfully marked the two places, as best she could, on Lucien's map, before heading inside for lunch with, as she put it, "her man."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"So. These are bandits. We are off to try and kill some bandits. People who, by the very nature of their profession, are definitely capable of murder, and probably quite good at it. Are we sure this is a good plan? Couldn't we start with, I don't know, some rats, or mudcrabs?"

"Feel free to try and shoot a chitin-covered creature the size of a pillow on the way, Lucien – I think there's a likely spot over there. Personally, I think people are probaly easier to hit, and a lot less likely to have your arrow just bounce off." He looked pensive, then nodded firmly, and they pressed on. 

Truth be told, she wasn't... entirely keen on the whole business. She had no particular reservations about the morality of taking human life, or even necessarily Merish, if they were outlaws, and probably had a fair few outright murders under their belts. But yes, she was perhaps doing her best to hide some trepidation about whether, when it came down to it, the pair of them were quite, completely, entirely, well. Up to killing several angry, possibly skooma-addled, armed people? 

Still, the prospect of the bounty did instill a certain determination. She really needed a spell to heal herself quickly, and that was going to cost a decent sum. Even with the reduced price, Lucien had paid several hundred gold for the two tomes yesterday. She was about halfway to being able to cast Healing Hands, perhaps they should have taken the extra day... But it was too late now, they were approaching the ruin Adrianne had described. 

She guessed it had been some kind of temple, or at least, it had a very ceremonial feeling, three wide flights of stairs cut into the hillside, with a domed structure at the top, set into what looked like a ring with a walkway and sets of stone arches at the top. More relevant to the current situation, there was a dark-haired man in some kind of fur kilt near the bottom of the stairs, sitting in a chair, paying more attention to the bottle in his hand than his surroundings. Good. She nodded to Lucien.

He gritted his teeth, took a breath, and drew his bow. A moment later, the bandit dropped his bottle in surprise, his hand flying to his neck, from which a wooden shaft now protruded. Damn. A second shot hit the man in the chest, just off-centre, and he stared right at them for a moment, before sliding off his chair. Nerussa pretended not to notice how pale Lucien had turned, he could have any emotions he liked later, but this was not the time to draw attention to them. She nodded in what she hoped was an encouraging way, and they crept up the stairs. The rest of the ruin was, afterwards, something of a blur when she tried to recall any details, there had been an Argonian, a few more humans, a lot of flames, swords, and Lucien's arrows – either the boy was a natural, or the Bosmer from the Huntsman was an incredible trainer. They found some rather interesting enchanted items – the enchantment seemed to have been worked into the steel in a way she had never seen or even read about before – and a book which she hoped would shed some light on that, around a clearly ancient forge. 

None of the dead bandits matched the description – a Nord woman with a burn scar on her cheek – of the bandit leader, though. Damn. There had been a small, unimportant-looking structure at the bottom of the stairs, perhaps she was in there? They took some time to heal and rest, then set off to find out. The door led into a sort of tunnel that looped around and ended in a small room lined with shelves, and occupied by their quarry. She weilded a two-handed axe, but in that small space, she couldn't swing it well. Flames were so much more useful in close quarters, although it was just as well the shelves mainly held root vegetables and dried fish, rather than books or something more flammable. A ladder in the centre of the room had impeded the bandit leader further, and led up into a gated area, fortunately with a chain-pull to lift the gate from the inside. 

"Are you all right, Lucien?"

"I... will be. I don't really want to think about it just now, if that's all right with you, boss?"

"Very well. I think it's mid-afternoon, should we press on to Redoran's Retreat, or shall we head back to the city to sell some of this stuff?"

Lucien shrugged vaguely, so she lifted her pack a little higher on her shoulder, and started walking in the direction of the city. "How did that song Talsgar taught you go, again? It's been driving me mad, I can only remember snatches of it!" Hesitantly at first, but getting stronger fairly quickly, Lucien began singing what appeared to be called Mogo's Mead, and by the time they reached the city gate she'd somehow found herself joining in on the choruses.


	5. Chapter 5

The coin purse didn't seem to cheer Lucien quite as much as it did Nerussa, although that wasn't so surprising, on reflection. Farengar, the court wizard, agreed to keep hold of one of the strange enchanted pieces for now, on the condition that he be allowed to study it himself. Most of her share of the bounty went on a Healing spell tome, so Lucien insisted on paying for their evening meal, and a bottle of wine to go with it. She couldn't help noticing that he didn't really drink his own wine, but she wasn't sure if that was usual for him. He was still out of sorts after they finished eating, and she found herself suggesting a walk outside the city, as it was a fine evening. They wandered vaguely westwards, across the plain, pausing for a few minutes to watch a Giant settling down by the fire for his evening meal of Something Revolting From A Strange Leather Sack. 

"Do you want to talk about it, or would you rather not?"

"What is there to say? I killed someone. Several people. I knew I was going to, but... well. Then it really happened."

"You did. And so did I. But each of them has killed before, I can promise you that. And they would have killed again. I'm not trying to... to ignore what you're saying, or tell you not to be bothered by it. But perhaps it will be a little easier if you remember that the roads will be that little bit safer for other people, now we've done that?"

"Yes, that's what I keep telling myself. It just doesn't feel, well, very heroic, does it?"

She looked sideways at him, and sighed. "I don't think that you would be, well, you, if you felt heroic, right now. You've read about this kind of thing in books, but however much detail they write, they can't really capture the essence of it, and most of them don't try, only the glory, and the vanquishing of the wicked. And however much you might know that, it doesn't necessarily affect how you feel it."

He was about to say something when he stopped in his tracks. "Nerussa, look! Is that... A headless horseman? I've read about this apparition, but I wouldn't have expected to see it!"

She followed his gaze and, Tongue of Xarxes, he was right! Not far from where they stood, the road cut across the plains, heading north – they were probably close to Redoran's Retreat, come to think of it. But right now she was rather more concerned with the glowing, pale horse and its rider who was, undeniably, minus a head. The spectre seemed far less interested in them, which was probably a relief, and was making his way at some speed. They looked at each other for a second, then ran to follow him. Fortunately, because she wasn't sure they wouldn't have run right across the damn province if he'd kept going, he only travelled about as far as they had already walked, before coming to a stop at a small graveyard, backed with a number of ominous-looking sarcophagi.

As they watched, the spectre faded away, and the lids of the sarcophagi fell open. Suddenly, a blur of flashing blue light and gaudy purple robes appeared from behind a wall, settling into a tall, hooded figure wielding two freshly-summoned bound swords. "The name's Rumarin," he called out, "but perhaps the introductions should come after we deal with our friends, there!"


	6. Chapter 6

**3rd Hearthfire, Riften**

The last two weeks have been exhausting, and I haven't had a chance, or the energy, to write in this thing. I'm sure my Senna would have words with me for taking up with a Mer I met in a Nord graveyard. Oh, not like that! She'd probably approve of that. No, adding him to the 'little adventuring party,' as Lucien insists on calling it. Still, he was very handy in the fight with those ghastly draugr things, and he just sort of came back to Whiterun with us and, well, he's still there, with Lucien, while I came back to hand over certain items to Delvin. 

Since then we've fallen into something of a routine, looking for 'work' (fights, mostly) in the morning, most of the day spent on those tasks – dealing with bandits, retrieving lost articles, and occasionally walking up to a small farming settlement called Rorikstead to deliver various things for the merchants. That last one wasn't the most lucrative, but easily the most pleasant, though we tended to stay off the roads to avoid... trouble with my old colleagues. Not that they knew that particular detail. Evenings have largely consisted of a quick dash around the Plains district selling off this and that, and collecting payments, before either traipsing up to Dragonsreach to trade with Farengar (if we had enough in our coin purses) or straight back to the tavern for Lucien and me to start studying, while Rumarin arranged an evening meal and drank with the locals.

There was a little trouble on the carriage ride from Whiterun, but fortunately when the bandit who tried to threaten the driver realised that the passengers included a pair of large, heavily-armoured Nords and an Altmer with charged spells, she backed down. 

Spent most of my pay from Delvin getting training in the Cistern, and picked up some more jobs. One in Whiterun, two in Windhelm, which I don't greatly relish, and one near Solitude. Thankfully, Delvin says that one isn't particularly urgent, although the note I just took from Keerava makes the prospect of visiting Haafingar a little more tempting. There was another, rather scruffier note on the bar, but it was obviously meant for someone in particular, so I left that one.

It's actually a little lonely here by myself. Not so much that I feel any inclination to go downstairs and sit with a crowd of drunk Nords, Dunmer and Bosmer, obviously. But I suppose I have become accustomed to Lucien's odd little musings, and Rumarin's terrible jokes. On the other hand, there's a very pleasant chance that I might not have to queue to bathe when I wake up first thing. One thing I will say for this province, they do at least have decent bathing facilities, compared to what I might have expected. Provided one isn't too exhausted to ask about them, as I was the last time I was here.


	7. Chapter 7

"It's called a resonant sphere! My father gave them to me before I left on my expedition, for when I found someone to travel with. If you twist it like... _so_ and push _here_ it will, well, resonate! And so will mine. It'll probably be easier to just try it out, honestly, explaining it just makes it sound far more confusing than it really is, but we'll be able to find each other _much_ more easily. I would have given it to you sooner, but, well, they are _irreplaceable_ and I had to be sure I could trust you. And I can!"

She hoped she didn't actually wince when he said that. She didn't _think_ she had. She would tell him the truth, when she could. When she was sure it was safe. She needed to find someone she could talk to first. And that likely meant going to Markarth.

"It's fantastic, Lucien, I look forward to trying it out! I had a tutor once who was extremely interested in Dwemer artefacts, but I don't think even he had seen something like this." Tucking the surprisingly light globe into her pack, Nerussa glanced around the tavern.

"He's gone to Arcadia's Cauldron, for potions."

She wrinkled her nose. "Hmm? Oh, Rumarin? Good, shall we head outside to wait for him, then?"

Lucien gave her a funny little smile, and pushed open the door. Rumarin was already waiting outside the alchemist's shop, leaning languidly against a post in the late morning sunshine, examining his fingernails. He was right about the paint and the hood 'accentuating the glare', she had to admit, although his face brightened as they approached.

"Back from the City of Ill Repute, then? Did you have a shocking time?" 

Nerussa tucked the potion he handed her into the vial holder strapped to her hip with one hand, pulling her own hood further forward to better hide her face. Because they were heading to Riverwood along the main road, with the attendant risk of running into someone she knew, and didn't want _them_ to know she knew, of course.

***

The sun was high in the sky as they reached the tavern on the edge of Riverwood, so they stopped for something to eat. They had barely sat down with their bowls of some kind of stew, when they were approached by a cheerful Redguard. 

"You in need of a companion, friends? Because you're in luck!"

The three of them looked at each other, and at the greatsword strapped to the man's back.

"I take it you know how to swing that thing?" Nerussa said, in a gruff sort of way. The Redguard laughed, his knotted beard shaking as he did.

"Miss, I've killed more men than there are seconds in a day!"

"You've killed _1,440 men_?" Lucien asked, wide-eyed.

"That few, huh? Guess I should start saying 'in a week'!" 

***

The way up to the Barrow was no great challenge, other than the biting cold. A scattering of half-frozen, scrawny bandits were easily dispatched. The more than capable help of the Redguard, who had introduced himself as Gorr, also helped. He had mainly talked about food, once his fighting credentials were taken as read, so it wasn't a great surprise that he shook his head sadly at the sight of the remains of a charred, half-raw skeever on a spit inside the first room of the ruin. 

"Skeever's never a _good_ meal, but no wonder they were in such poor shape."

The next few rooms were relatively empty, aside from a sole bandit who fell to a scattering of poisoned darts, which shot out at him after a failed attempt to decode a rather basic "puzzle" lock. Further into the ruin, down a rotting spiral staircase...

Webs. Webs were, after Helgen, not something Nerussa was happy to see. An archway covered with the things, and beyond, mere glimpses of darkness.

"Is... Is someone coming? Harknir, Bjorn, Soling... Is that you? I know I ran ahead with the claw, but I need your help!" 

Dunmer, from the sound of his voice. Also, terrified. Gorr took a swing at the webs, and cut through a fair bit before the sword started to get stuck in the stuff. In the end, it took Nerussa nd Lucien's combined Flames to really clear the way. The four of them moved through into a chamber, dark but for a small area in the centre, where two shafts of daylight shone down. At first, Nerussa thought there were two holes in the roof of the chamber, and wondered where the spider was.

Everything was covered in more webbing, even what looked horribly like clusters of spider eggs. Then, the edge of her vision registered movement. Growing horror cooled her blood, as she looked up and realised. It wasn't two holes. It was one very large hole, mostly blocked by what was now slowly descending.

The spider. Nerussa and Lucien readied their Flame spells. Rumarin summoned his bow and Gorr, well, Gorr's blade was always ready.

As soon as the creature's back end came into view, it was engulfed in bursts of Flame. Rumarin fired rapidly at the thing, and Gorr charged directly at it, sword arcing at the dangling abdomen.

It started well. The spider was caught off balance by Gorr's swing, spinning in a way it clearly had not intended. It seemed Rumarin's unnerving arrows (she still was not entirely comfortable with the 'binding Daedra as weapons' thing) did a surprisingly good job of piercing its chitinous exterior, and Lucien's Flames burned through the strand of silk that was just visible above the beast, enough that it snapped, the spider tumbling to the ground.

Then, though, it found its feet, for too quickly for something with so damn many of them. It lashed out with its pincers, catching Rumarin on the arm, before spitting venom wildly. Nerussa and Lucien managed to dodge the stuff, but to their horror they saw Gorr topple, frozen stiff, to the floor.

Damn, paralysis. The other three looked at each other, and for the second time that day, their choice was clear. Lucien blasted the spider with all his reserves of Magicka, backing away, as the other two dragged Gorr's heavily-armoured form back through the archway.

" _Don't leave me_ , for Arkay's sake!"


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

To everyone's relief, Gorr recovered fairly quickly from the venom, which hadn't affected him beyond the immediate paralysis. 

"Some would credit my Redguard blood, but I'm inclined to thank a hearty diet!"

Still, none of them felt terribly inclined to head back into the depths of the barrow, regardless of the bandit's plaintive cries echoing up the chamber as they had begun to leave. It was painfully obvious they weren't yet ready for the place, and Rumarin's arm needed a healer, it was clearly wounded beyond what Nerussa and Lucien could mend with Healing Hands. 

Gorr declined, in an amicable sort of way, to travel with them for now. 

"Nothing personal, I just don't fancy running into Hulda at the Bannered Mare. She didn't appreciate my suggestions for her mother's recipes..."

***

Back at the Temple of Kynareth in Whiterun, Danica Pure-Spring was very understanding, if visibly downcast, that they had not yet made it to Orphan Rock. While she worked on Rumarin's arm, Nerussa and Lucien headed to the nearby Temple of Arkay with a bundle from the Priestess in Riften. They weren't terribly surprised to find that the local Priest also needed a favour, but it didn't take very long to despatch the skeletons in the Hall of the Dead, and retrieve his lost amulet.

Danica was quite insistent that Rumarin should rest for a few days, so the three of them took a carriage to Windhelm, where he could stay with his cousin, Ulundil.

"He's not my actual cousin, I don't think, but he's from the same part of the Isles as my mother, so he insists I call him that."

They were sitting on the cart, the fur cloaks they had bought folded under them, giving a welcome level of padding to the wooden bench. 

"Oh, they were from the south?" Definitely not a Northern practice, that.

"Yes, some village near Sunhold, I think – I'm sure Ulundil will tell you all about it."

Lucien turned to her. "What part of Summerset are you from, Nerussa? I don't think I've ever actually asked, I'm sorry!" 

"Oh, I grew up in Alinor, the capital. Quiet, both of you, we're appraoching the tower where we had trouble last time..."

Fortunately, the bandit on look out duty seemed to have dozed off in the late afternoon sun, although the bottle in her hand may also have had something to do with it.

"And you, Lucien, you said you grew up in the Imperial City? I actually visited the area once, probably before you were born..."

He stiffened, ever so slightly. "Yes, I suppose it must have been... Was it before the war?" Oh gods, was he thinking she meant during?

"Yes, a few years before. A friend and I visited a few Ayleid ruins, I suppose a little like this expedition of yours."

"Oh, they're spectacular, aren't they? I was able to visit a couple of Ayleid sites with my father – Fanacasecul, and Garlas Matalar, they're kept cleared for researchers and the like, although we had to get special dispensation for Garlas, of course, what with the Umaril business toward the end of the third Era... It's not really my personal area of interest, but of course, all the old civilisations have some fascination, and so much to teach us.

He had relaxed again, though she noticed Rumarin was sitting up a little straighter.

She followed the Mer's gaze across the river to what appeared to be a single fort-like turret, built into the mountainside, opening onto a small outcropping of rock. It looked like nobody could have been there in decades, centuries, even. And yet, she could just make out a small group of figures in dark armour, standing by the door. As they moved, light glinted off golden detailing on the armour.

Interesting. Was this being done with the First Emissary's knowledge? Certainly, it wasn't one of the bases Nerussa had been made aware of, and this was, she thought, close to where she had been sent to 'disrupt things' before ending up at Helgen. 

"Nerussa? Are you all right?"

She shook herself, and smiled at Lucien. "I'm fine, just a little tired. Rumarin, how's your arm?" 

They were coming into a colder area now, and as they carried on their conversation, they pulled the furs over themselves.

The sun was setting as they finally arrived at the stables outside Windhelm. Rumarin introduced them to Ulundil and his wife, Arivanya, a pretty She-Elf with a decidedly different accent to her husband. The couple apologised profusely that they had already eaten their evening meal, and insisted on lending Lucien and Nerussa some warm scarves and gloves when they left. 

Neither of them had felt especially keen to cross the looming bridge into Ulfric Stormcloak's city, so they followed Ulundil's directions to a nearby village with a tavern. So late in the evening, they expected it to be quiet, but the peace was disturbed somewhat by a Dunmer in scuffed armour, who seemed to be carousing in an almost pointed manner, though who it was directed at was anybody's guess. Eventually, the drunk Mer passed out, face down on one of the tables, and they were able to get some rest.


	9. Chapter 9

The following morning they begrudgingly headed into Windhelm, in hopes of finding some warmer clothing to buy. That achieved, they first introduced themselves to the local alchemist and then the Jarl's court wizard, at Farengar's suggestion. The alchemist was a crotchety old Altmer who complained that his assistant wouldn't let him go tearing off into some nearby cave to retrieve... well, something rather interesting, Nerussa had to admit. She left the small shop in the marketplace feeling rather homesick – he reminded her of her grandfathers, she supposed – and having promised to do her best to investigate the cave when she was a little more prepared. The Jarl's wizard, an old Nord called Wuunferth, reminded her even more of some of her older family members, although he might well have been around the same age as her – it was so hard to tell with humans, they aged so quickly. Lucien decided to pay for an hour's training with the man, so Nerussa slipped out to take care of some business. 

The first job was to pay a call on a small, dingy shop in the Dunmer district – the Grey Quarter, Delvin had said it was called. The owner, Revyn Sadri, had bought "a shipment of goods, at an astonishing price" and only realised belatedly how the price had been so very low. He had disposed of most of the goods one way and another, but one in particular was far too distinctive to risk – a gold ring with a particular style of engraving and a very uncommon arrangement of stones. Returning it to the owner – an Imperial woman living in the nicer part of town – was simple enough. Naturally, discretion called for something other than walking up to her and asking "excuse me, madam, have you lost this?" The lock on the house was not especially complex, and Nerussa was able to slip inside easily enough. Once inside, she judged the positions of the lanterns, and found a small gap in the floorboards in just the right spot that a glint of light would attract the woman's eye when she turned from lighting the lantern nearest the small dining table that was the only furniture in the large downstairs room of the house.

"Thank you so much for your help. I know Delvin through his brother, I wouldn't normally involve myself with, well, your organisation. No offence!"

She assured him that none had been taken, and headed back into the narrow, dirty alleyway. She checked her journal for Delvin's directions, and turned right. Suvaris Atheron's house, just past the Cornerclub, on the other side.

The client had claimed that the Atherons were living high on Suvaris' wages from her work running a local warehouse. Looking around their home, Nerussa doubted it.

The family's belongings were sparse, though clearly well looked after. Pursing her lips, Nerussa made a decision. She couldn't risk losing the guild a client – Delvin had made it quite clear, things were not going well – by skipping the job entirely. Taking the item she had come for, she slipped a small pile of silvers and a garnet from her pouch onto the bare space it left.

She left the house brazenly – Delvin had told her this was actually less likely to draw attention than sneaking out – and followed the alley back out to the open square at the centre of the city. A few more steps and she was climbing the steps to the tavern, and pushing open the door, glad to see that Lucien was already there.

The young Imperial was sitting at a small table near the fireplace in the centre of the Great Room. A Nord woman, firelight dancing on her fine features, stood nearby, bending forward, ostensibly so he could hear her over the chatter of other patrons. In that dress, though, it seemed likely she was hoping to catch the well-dressed young man's attention – he had been glad of a chance to wear his fine clothes rather than armour – in a rather more specific way.

Sadly for the serving-girl, Lucien seemed as oblivious as ever. 

"Oh, roast lamb sounds wonderful, miss, thank you! Ah, Nerussa, you're here, this is Susanna, she says there's lamb or venison, my treat!"

Settling by the fire, Nerussa nodded and asked for venison, and the girl left, seemingly bearing no particular grudge for the interruption.

"Thank goodness you got here, Nerussa, she was very sweet, but very... determined!"

Nerussa smirked, but said nothing. Their lunch was very pleasant indeed, and they were able to wrap up warmly before heading to the city gate. Wuunferth had told Lucien that the College at Winterhold was the best place to get training in multiple schools of magic, but of course there would have been no point asking a mage like him for directions. Arivanya was on her way home from the market, so they walked with her back to the stable. Rumarin seemed cheerful but thoroughly uninterested in visiting the College with the others. After they returned the borrowed scarves, Lucien took out his map to plan a route.

"It looks as though the best route is probably up past this mill, and then along this road _here_ \- we'd be doubling back a little, but that looks like the only real road."

"Oh, you don't want to go that way – there's a fort about halfway along that stretch of road, it changes hands a lot, but it's always full of someone you don't want to try and get past if you can help it. You'd be better off going this way, hop over the back wall of the dock and then up this way, there's no path on the map, but you'll find it easily enough."

***

Sure enough, aside from the occasional wolf and irritable goat, the path she recommended was clear. The air was frigid, but they were well prepared, and able to enjoy their first glimpse of the Sea of Ghosts as they climbed the hill. It was so different to the Abecean, they both agreed – Lucien had been to the Gold Cost on family holidays a few times, growing up – though, well, of course it was. The Abecean was bathed in warm, golden sunlight, and dotted with brightly-coloured fishing vessels. This was another kind of beauty – bleak and a little intimidating, but still breathtaking.

After another hour or so, they reached Winterhold. The city itself was in a sorry state. Lucien had explained what he knew of the Great Collapse on the walk, but the College itself looked solid enough, considering it stood on an improbably precarious rock a short distance from the city proper.

"So, you can imagine, the locals were pretty suspicious!" Lucien finished. "Shall we enquire with the hooded figure up there?"

Nerussa would have quite liked to warm up in the tavern first, but she nodded and they approached. The hooded figure, standing under an archway, bundled in deep red robes and white furs, turned out to be a She-Elf around Nerussa's own age. 

"Welcome to the College of Winterhold. I am Faralda, one of the Senior Wizards here. I must advise you that if your only purpose in approaching is to complain, you would be far better speaking with the Jarl in Winterhold. If, however, you seek something more, I will be happy to assist you."

"Do people come to complain a lot?"

"You have no idea, Imperial. Nords, mainly, of course. Think we had something to do with, well..." She flapped a hand irritably in the general direction of the ruined buildings poking out of several feet of snowfall.

Nerussa hastened to be the next to speak. "We have no cause to complain, certainly. In fact, we should appreciate the chance to visit the College itself and avail ourselves of some training from your colleagues..."

Faralda laughed, though not unkindly. "Oh, dear girl, you don't need to put on those Alinor airs with me. Informality is far more my style, though I'm sure the Nords still find me stuffy. So, you would like to train? That is certainly possible, although you would need to register as full students. Do you have a preferred School of magic?"

"Well, I was mainly trained in Destruction and Illusion, but I'm terribly rusty, and I've been picking up a little Alteration and Restoration... Not Conjuration, though, no interest in that."

"I see. And you?"

"I think I'd like to specialise in Restoration. I'm much more of a helper than an actual fighter, although I've read of Restoration spells that can be used combatively, so to speak."

"Very well. You, Alinor. In order to assess basic competence, I'd like to observe you casting a simple Fire Bolt on your friend here. When she's done, Cyrod, I'll observe your form as you heal yourself."

She watched their reactions dryly for a moment, then broke into a broad grin.

"Don't look so alarmed, I have to entertain myself out here, you know! No, no, cast the Fire Bolt at the symbol on the wall – it will glow if you succeed – and you, young man, cast a healing spell on it afterwards. You do know some sort of heal-target spell, I take it?"

Lucien nodded, visibly relieved, and they carried out her requests. She seemed satisfied, and began to walk across the alarmingly damaged bridge.

"Not the most rigorous entrance exam, I know," she remarked as they followed her, "but it keeps away the majority of fools who just want to look at the place, or cause trouble. Here we are, go ahead and speak to Mirabelle Ervine. That's her, talking to... Oh dear, you might want to hang back until she's finished. Her little chats with our 'advisor' can get heated."

Faralda indicated a Breton woman in teal robes who was talking animatedly with... Oh, Oghma's _tits_. How had she forgotten? Ancano. Of course. She adjusted her hood and hoped the higher ranks' tendency not to waste mental energy on knowing the faces of underlings would apply here.

She stopped Lucien by a statue, making what she hoped was a "you heard her!" face. They waited for the robed Mer to stalk away before approaching Mirabelle. She directed them to the student sleeping quarters, and they agreed to meet at dawn for the full tour.

"So, that's it? We're members of the College of Winterhold now?! The Arcane University had _much_ more stringent requirements!"

"Yes, so did the Academy where I trained..." Realising this could lead to a tricky conversation, she tried to think of a safer topic. Fortunately, Lucien yawned apologetically, bid her goodnight, and headed into his new room.

She had to admit, as she hung up the robes she had been given, the architecture was rather impressive for Nords. Supposedly, it had been magically constructed by its founder, Shalidor – the subject of the statue in the courtyard, she assumed – although that seemed unlikely. The robes were pretty, too, a vivid blue with creamy leather and linen accents, and symbols of the Illusion school embroidered around the cuffs in shimmering dark blue thread. The enchantment wasn't strong, but it should certainly help, as would the hood. Its fabric was fairly stiff, but should be much more comfortable than the leather one, and easier to adjust around her face.

She was glad to be able to close the doors of the room, and even more so when she heard an all-too familiar, haughty, Alinor-accented voice in the hall outside.


	10. Chapter 10

After the tour, they were sent into a large chamber in the Hall of Elements, where a lecture was just beginning. Several students sat on the stone steps, as an elder Nord explained about the schools of magic, basic information that any child in Alinor would have known. She snuck a sidelong glance at Lucien, who looked equally unimpressed.

Eventually, they were each given a Lesser Ward spell tome and told to spend the rest of the day working through it, before a practical lesson the following morning. The Arcanaeum seemed the obvious choice for study, but the pair of them had grown used to studying together and comparing notes, so they headed back to the Hall of Attainment and climbed to the upper floor where they had breakfasted that morning. There was only one other student there, although she hadn't been in the lecture. She introduced herself as Lielle, and explained that she had been at the College for some time and was now at the stage where she was chiefly involved with her own research rather than lectures. After a brief chat, she headed back to her chamber to continue her work, and Nerussa and Lucien set to work.

By the evening, they were ready to practice casting the spell. They crossed the courtyard into the Hall of the Elements and found a practice space downstairs.

"I can't believe I'm about to say this, but... blast me!" Lucien's hand was raised, a pale golden glow spreading outwards until it shielded his whole upper body and head. Nerussa charged her Fire Bolt spell and aimed it at him, trying to suppress a smirk as she remembered Faralda on the bridge the night before. A ball of orange flame shot toward Lucien's ward, he flinched a little, but held firm, and the ward stayed up, the fiery ball crashing into it and fading to nothing. She switched to her other hand – Flames, and sent several short bursts out. The ward finally dissipated after the sixth – not bad going, they agreed.

"I've noticed you use your Flame spell in bursts like that, is there a particular reason for that?"

"Oh, it's just something I found myself doing. I think it works better, though, I can cast longer when I do it this way – when you hit something with most fire spells, it actually stays on fire for a few moments... Look, I'll show you on the, what did they call it? Spectral sparring-partner?"

They crossed the echoing chamber and approached a robed, ghostly figure. "May we spar, serjo? I wish to demonstrate a technique to my friend, here, and would greatly appreciate if you would allow me to cast Flames on you without warding or retaliation."

"Very well, muthsera."

The figure stood with its arms folded, seeming almost amused. "You see, if I cast in bursts, like so, the flames continue for a few moments after I stop casting, look. As far as I can tell, I harm them about the same amount, and thus I can cast for longer without exhausting my magicka. Many thanks, serjo, your patience is appreciated."

The figure nodded and resumed its original position. Lucien was about to speak, when they heard a low, throaty chuckle above them. A corresponding tinkling laugh came in response – an Alinor laugh, if ever she'd heard one. Many of her contemporaries had put considerable time into perfecting their delicate laughs. Nerussa had mainly learned to keep hers quiet, it being the best she could do. They had seen one other female Altmer at the College, besides Faralda. Very Alinor, that one, the sort who could look down her nose at the few people who might be taller than her. It didn't take much to work out that the likely posessor of the chuckle was Ancano, then. Nerussa pulled a face, and motioned to Lucien to stay quiet and follow her up the stairs and out of the building – fortunately, neither of the Altmer they spotted in the opposite stairwell seemed very aware of their surroundings.


	11. Chapter 11

At the beginning of the following week, they packed their things and boarded a cart heading from Winterhold to Windhelm. They had a package to deliver from one Thelsa Andalas, a Dunmer alchemist who ran the bar and canteen in the College's Hall of Acumen. The parcel was bound for a tavern further along the westward road, but Nerussa wanted to check in on Rumarin first.

Once they had got settled on the cart, Lucien piped up. 

"I can't say I was very impressed with the theory side of things, but I do feel the practical training has improved my casting somewhat. I didn't take many practical courses at the Arcane University, as you could probably tell when we first started adventuring together!"

"I used to be reasonably competent with a few Destruction and Illusion spells, but I... haven't really had cause to cast much in the past few years..." 

"That reminds me, I'm so sorry, I keep forgetting to ask. What did you do for a living before you came to Skyrim?"

Xarxes' arse. She was too cold to come up with a good lie and she wasn't sure she wanted to. She had come to rather like this cheerful, thoughtful young human, and she didn't want to break his trust further than she already had by outright lying.

"Well..." She rubbed her temple, and moved her hand down to pull her cloak tighter around herself. "You know I lived in Alinor, yes? The capital. I think it's... difficult for someone who didn't grow up there to really grasp what it was like... Their influence... pervades. It felt normal, I suppose, because when you don't know anything else..."

They sat quietly for a few minutes, passing a small mining encampment as they did, and she could practically feel Lucien was resisting saying something.

"If you're from a fairly ordinary family – not rich, not poor, just ordinary – and you don't have any special talent yourself... It was a good job. Steady work, the salary was plenty for a nice enough lifestyle. I mainly worked with ledgers, records and the like."

She trailed off, hoping she wouldn't need to say it.

"You... work for the Thalmor?" His voice was shocked, of course, but he didn't sound angry, as such. She hoped she was reading him right...

"Yes. From my late twenties – a decade or so before the war started. I was recruited into their training centre when I finished my schooling. I was able to access their libraries, and indulge my interest in languages..."

His voice this time was strained. "Did you fight in the war?"

"Oh, no. I can barely lift a blade, and my spells were far too weak for a Battlemage. Fine for a trip to a haunted ruin, but nothing serious. No, I just organised supplies, kept paperwork up to date."

"I see."

"I'm not trying to... excuse anything. I'm sorry I didn't tell you before. It was partly an attempt to keep you safe – if you didn't know... But, well, then we nearly walk into bloody Ancano."

"Ah. Yes, I noticed you were rather... Skittish whenever he was around. That explains that." He paused, and looked directly at her. She couldn't meet his gaze." "Sorry, I was a bit thrown before. Just to clarify, Nerussa, and this is Quite Important. Do you _still_ work for them?"

"I... don't think so. Oh, I see. No, I'm not here as a spy. I don't entirely know what my status is."

"Hence the hood? And the way you tensed up on the cart when we saw those Thalmor soldiers?" She nodded. "Well. How did you actually end up in Skyrim, then?"

And so she told him, all about the promotion she had been given a few months earlier. Running the Embassy's offices, nothing glamorous, but her parents had been pleased. Senna hadn't said an awful lot about it, but she'd pressed a bundle of letters into her hand when they accompanied her to the dock. Damn, where were those? Back in the Embassy, she hoped. Sort of.

Elenwen asking for a private word, explaining they needed someone for a practical assignment, and felt she would be perfect for it. Making her way to Darkwater Crossing, where she "accidentally" blundered into the group of "rebel soldiers" so they wouldn't notice the Legion's pathetic attempt at an ambush. She hadn't expected the leader of the rebels to be there, at the time she had been surprised at Elenwen's informants having missed such a key fact, though now she was inclined to suspect there had been no such oversight. She had already told him and Rumarin most of the actual Helgen part, but she filled in a few gaps, such as her horror as she realised that, for some reason, the Imperial General was not passing her to Elenwen's custody. 

"I see..." Lucien ran a hand over his beard thoughtfully, and shifted on the bench. "This is a lot to take in, Nerussa. Does Rumarin know?"

"I haven't told him. It's possible he suspects something." Her voice was flat and she found herself staring at a snowberry bush the cart had just passed. She hadn't even noticed them passing the infamous Fort Kastav that Arivanya had warned them to avoid. Whoever was occupying it at present must have been sleeping late.

"Well. Thank you for telling me. You're right, I can't imagine what growing up in that situation would be like. If it's any consolation... You don't seem to have much in common with the rest of them?" Lucien looked across at her with an awkward grin. He was actually trying to... make her feel better?

"Would it help if I were angry? I wish you'd said something sooner, of course, but I can understand why you would be reticent."

She sighed. "No, I don't want you to be angry. I just..." She might have thought of something to say, had the cart not arrived at the Windhelm stables. Ulundil's smiling face as he approached to help them down from the cart meant they couldn't really continue.

"Very good to see you again, my la... _Nerussa_! And you too, of course, sir! My Arivanya is off in the city at the moment, I'm sure you'll find her at the market, or are you here for Rumarin?"

His cheerful demeanour was very disarming. She nodded and he insisted on carrying their packs up to his little home.

"Welcome back, you two! Are you Master Wizards, now?"

"Ha, hardly!" Lucien replied, "a bit more confident, though, and we each managed to tear through a few spell tomes. Watch this!" He held out his hand, which glowed with a pale blue light – he clicked his fingers and the light floated up and settled just above his head.

"Gosh – a spell that's actually useful!" Rumarin was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, following the light with his eyes, smirking a little.

Lucien huffed. " _You_ cast spells, Rumarin, surely you think _those_ are useful!"

"Oh, certainly, because they mean I don't have to clank around with bits of metal strapped to my hips like you do. And, I'll grant you, healing spells can be handy."

"Magic is extremely useful! You're just jealous."

"Oh, certainly, very jealous of all the – ugh – studying. Can't think of anything I'd enjoy more."

Nerussa broke in. "Yes, well, this is all very productive, but how is your arm? We're planning to head west, are you coming with us?"

His smirk changed ever so slightly as he turned to look at her. She couldn't quite read it.

"Sadly, Ulundil needs me for a while longer. His ledger has been languishing, neglected, for months, and I'm trying to get him caught up. I'll send word when I'm done, if you both still want a useless two-spell wonder around?"

She rolled her eyes at him. "I'm sure we'll find some use for you." His eyes sparkled, and the corner of his mouth twitched, but he echoed Lucien's earlier huff. She laughed and picked up her pack, heading to the door.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

The Nightgate Inn was only a short way from the road, yet it felt completely isolated. A seat by the door looked out over a frozen lake with a small covered dock on which they could see, from the shoulders down, a large, well-dressed figure, with his back to them.

Inside, the tavern was well lit and suprisingly well-decorated. Obviousy there was more money than Nerussa might have expected in running the only tavern on a long, cold road to nowhere much.

The only patron, a middle-aged Nord with a slim blade at his hip, glared sullenly at Nerussa over his mug of ale as she passed on the way to speak to the innkeeper.

"I have a package for... she didn't actually give a name, one of your residents? From Thelsa, in Winterhold?"

The innkeeper smiled and took the package. "Ah, yes, I know who that's for. He's left payment for you, here. Would you two be wanting a bed for the night? There's a blizzard looming, you'll be taking a risk if you try to press on!"

She caught Lucien's alarmed look out of the corner of her eye. She wasn't sure if it was about the weather, the assumption, or both. She chuckled.

"We'd need two rooms, if you have them?"

"Certainly. Old Fulltheim there will be stumbling back to his shack soon, and the Orc fella has the downstairs. That will be, let's call it thirty-five silver? And, er, I apologise for any embarrasment?" She assured him there was no need, and asked about food. The fare on offer was simple – soup, bread and roast beef – but superlatively good.

The pair of them attempted to study for an hour or two after dinner, but it seemed the last several days had been as much as their minds could handle, and they ended up heading to their rooms not long after the little patch of sky visible through the high, small windows of the tavern went dark.

***

When they woke, it occurred to them that they had no particular plan for the day. The innkeeper, as he cleared their breakfast things, suggested they might be interested in a nearby Nordic ruin, and gave them directions.

"Ironbind Barrow..." Lucien said in a faint tone of wonder as they left the tavern. "I believe I've read about that place! The tomb of someone called, oh, what was it... Warlord Gathrik, I believe his name was. Terrible fellow, by all accounts. I'm not sure we should try to explore the place alone, but we could have a look at the exterior, couldn't we?"

Nerussa nodded, adjusting her hood as they passed the nobly-dressed resident, who had turned out to be an Orc, on his way to the lakeside. 

As they followed the path to the barrow, voices floated down the hill.

"How can you just sit here and wait? We should be in there!" A young woman, and rather exasperated.

"We must gather our strength. Who knows what's inside?" Unmistakably an Argonian, older, by the sound of him. They reached the top of the path and found a small campsite with the owners of the voices, the Argonian sitting cross-legged by the fire in dark robes, a young Redguard woman in fine armour standing over him, her arms folded, with her back to the approaching pair.

"Treasure, that's what! Get off your scaly rump, and let's go!" 

The Argonian caught sight of Nerussa and Lucien, and hissed to his companion, "hush, Salma, we aren't alone." He gave the newcomers an appraising look. "I admit, there is strength in numbers. Perhaps between us... Speak with Miss Salma, if you wish to speak."

Lucien began to introduce himself, but Salma cut him off.

"I don't care _what_ Beem says, it's high time we get in there, and find our fortune!" 

"What is it you expect to find inside?"

"Gold, silver. Gems, maybe? Only one way to find out, and it's not standing out here watching our campfire die out!"

She drew her sword and moved towards the door. The robed Argonian sighed and pushed himself to a standing position. Nerussa and Lucien looked at each other, shrugged, and followed the other two through a small cave opening, which led into a narrow passageway filled with ice and spiders around the size of wolves. Not pleasant, but easily dealt with, compared to the gargantuan creature in Bleak Falls.

They made their way through the passage which eventually opened into a large cavern, the far side of which was taken up with a set of steps which led up to an impressive Nordic stone archway. The back wall had a relatively simple gate, raised by pulling a chain. Oddly, neither Salma nor the Argonian, who had introduced himself over his shoulder as Beem-Ja, seemed terribly interested in checking a chest near the gate, which turned out to have a small cluster of gems and some kind of ancient bronze coins at the bottom, under some crumbling pieces of what seemed to have once been simple hide armour.

A little further inside, they encountered their first Draugr since the pair they'd fought when they met Rumarin. Firebolts, flames, and Salma's silver-edged blade made short work of them. Continuing through the place, they fought a few more Draugr, singly or in pairs. At one point, she caught Lucien singing under his breath something that sounded like "I'm not scared, of the dead, they can't hurt... Argh!"

The last part, admittedly, wasn't so much under his breath.

The other pair continued rushing forwards, utterly ignoring various chests and other containers, most of which contained at least something of worth. Somewhat strange, given Salma's apparent focus on treasure hunting, although she seemed to be following her companion's lead. Eventually, they arrived in a chamber with a large gate at the far end. In front of it, a pedestal, on which sat a Dwarven helmet, faintly glowing.

"An enchanted Dwemer helmet? What's _that_ doing in a Nordic tomb? How fascinating!" Lucien reached out to take it, but Nerussa grabbed his arm.

"Careful, look, there's a mechanism – probably taking the helmet will open the gate, but, uh, look at the base of the pedestal."

"Gosh. That looks awfully like... probably a trap?"

"Right. You're _very_ clever, Lucien, but you're not always very sensible, are you?"

"Goodness, no, where would be the fun in that?" the young man beamed, drawing his sword, standing back half a pace, and gingerly hooking the point of the blade through one of the eyeholes and lifting the helmet. Sure enough, a number of spears shot up through the holes in the floor surrounding the pedestal. "Simply ingenious, how this mechanism is still in working order after all this time. If nobody has any objections, I shall be keeping this helmet."

No objections were raised, and, the gate having indeed lifted, they pressed on. As they approached a large wooden door, Beem-Ja readied his lightning spells. "This is it, Gathrik awaits us!" 

"What are you on about? Let's just grab the treasure and go!"

Nerussa and Lucien exchanged worried glances, but said nothing. Clearly, Beem-Ja knew more about the place than he had told Salma. The door opened into the largest chamber yet, some kind of auditorium, perhaps? Stone steps led down to a central... the only word that came to mind was 'pit'. On the far side, she could make out what looked like a simple throne, beyond that it was hard to see in the darkness, although there did appear to be some faint light source, a faint glowing blue.

No time to think too much about that, though, as a pair of horns arose on the far side of the throne. A draugr in dark armour and an intimidating horned helm – far more so than the silly ram-horn adorned things a few of the Nords seemed fond of wearing – turned to face them.

_"Fo... krah diin!"_

Nerussa was extremely glad of the training she'd been having, and made a mental note to thank Lucien once more for his contribution to the cost of it, if she got out of this. When the Draugr spoke – shouted, really – his very breath seemed to turn to a cloud of ice, but thankfully the training had improved not just her casting but her reflexes. Before the cloud had reached her, her ward was up, glowing pale gold in her hand and radiating outward to cover her. It was just sufficient to stop all but a faint frisson of chill from reaching her. She hoped the creature wouldn't do it too many more times, though, because it was clearly strong magic, and she was rather weaker to magical attacks than she was comfortable with. She tried not to follow that line of thought, she needed to pay attention to her surroundings, damn it.

A pair of skeletons fell easily to Salma's blade, and the four of them concentrated on Gathrik. He only managed the shouting thing once more, thankfully, and it was aimed at Salma, that time. She shrugged it off, and between them, they wore down the Draugr. He fell to one knee, and with one last blast of Lucien's Flame spell, he collapsed to the floor.

Nerussa, Lucien and Salma were sharing looks of relief and checking themselves for injuries in need of healing, when Nerussa heard a lightning spell being charged.

"Fools! I suppose I should thank you, I knew the girl wouldn't be strong enough to help me kill Gathrik by herself. There's just... one more thing I need from you. To fully absorb Gathrik's power, I need a blood sacrifice. Your blood should be good enough. This will go easier for us both, if you don't fight back."

"Beem! What are you doing?" Salma sounded even younger in that moment, the shock in her voice making her sound childlike.

The lightning hitting her chest was excruciating, and she staggered back, feeling herself sapped by it. Lucien shot an initial blast of Flames with one hand, followed by a Fire Bolt, but it was Salma who, snapping out of her shock, at least for a moment, grabbed the Argonian by his shoulder and drove her blade into his stomach. His own look of shock was brief, and he slumped to the ground. The girl let out a single sob, before turning to Nerussa.

"Father never trusted Beem, I always thought he was just being overprotective. Look, I just wanted adventure. Not this. Go on without me. I think I need to be alone for a while." She got as far as the nearest wall where she sat, and toyed with a letter she pulled from her pack.

Lucien made a move towards what looked to be a door leading outside, but Nerussa held a hand up.

"Wait. I think there was something up here…"

She had remembered the curious glow beyond the throne. It was odd, come to think of it, that the throne faced _away_ from the main body of the chamber.

As she drew closer to the throne, she began to hear… drums? No, voices, chanting. Low, deep, barely above a whisper. Compelling, somehow.

"Nerussa?"

She moved forward, the blue glow now clearly in view, spilling from the centre of a curved stone wall, topped with… something, she didn't care. All she could see was the Word, glowing in the centre of a group of other, lesser words. All she could feel was the chant.

She had never seen such markings before, and she had at least a passing familiarity with every form of script known on Alinor.

She was now standing before the throne 

_"Nerussa!_ What's so…"

For a moment, she felt like she would tip backwards to sit in the throne, but she was moving again, her hand reaching forward as tendrils of light swept towards her, dancing around her, like fingers in her hair, brushing her arms… she approached the Word and the chanting grew more urgent, more intense, until…

**_FEIM_ **

The light and the chanting were gone, and _now_ she stumbled backwards, tripping over her own heels, coming to rest in Gathrik's seat.

She felt something on her wrist, and for a moment she was sure a shackle had closed over it, sealing her here in Gathrik's place.

But when she looked down, all she saw was a pale, gentle hand.

"Nerussa, are you all right? You went a bit… strange for a minute."


	13. Chapter 13

“Lucien, really, I’m fine. Stop fussing!”

“Maybe if you would tell me what happened, I would believe that.”

“I’ve told you, I can’t explain it. It sounds… mad.”

“Madder than ‘we went into an ancient Nordic ruin with some treasure hunters, one of whom turned out to be a necromancer who planned to sacrifice his companion?”

She rubbed her face. “Yes. At least twice as mad as that.”

“Well, then I insist you do tell me, because it sounds extremely interesting.”

He sat resolutely in the chair by the bed, arms folded across his chest, an expectant look on his face. She couldn’t help laughing, and, somehow, that made it easier to start talking.

“Oh, very well. I assume you saw me staring at the wall? The one with the… carvings? Well, did you… hear or see anything else?”

He shook his head. 

“That’s what I thought. Xarxes’ nethers. Well… there was a sort of… glow. And, um. Chanting?” She risked a look at Lucien, whose face was thoughtful. That could have been much worse, so she pressed on.

“The carvings, not the… head… _thing_ , the other ones. The scratches. I think they’re words. No, I know full well they are. But I don’t know what language, what script. And I know _a lot_ of scripts. Anyway, one of the words had these sort of swirling tendrils of light pouring out of it. And I could hear chanting. I couldn’t make out if it was words or just… is ‘vocalising’ the word? But it all got… More, as I got closer, and then it was gone, but I… knew the word? The one that glowed.”

She _was_ more tired than she had thought, and she had to lie back down. She could barely remember leaving the tomb, or returning to the tavern.

“Well, that’s simply fascinating! Whatever could it mean? Something about it does ring a bell… Do you remember the word? Perhaps someone at the College… Sorry, sorry, time for this later. You get some more sleep, and I’ll arrange dinner in an hour or two.”

***

Lucien searched through his notebooks. There was something awfully familiar about what Nerussa had said. He had certainly read something about the enormous, carved walls that were as important a feature of many Nordic ruins as the Halls of Stories. He hadn’t had a proper look at the Hall in Ironbind, he had been too excited by the Dwemer helmet, and of course he had expected to be able to look more closely after they had finished exploring the rest of the ruin. He sighed and paged back and forth a few times. Definitely needed a better indexing system, this one was just not helping. 

Aha! That was the book - _Dragon Language, Myth No More_. He would have to enquire whether there was a copy in the Arcanaeum, but he could at least review the notes he had made. Mostly just musings on the linguistic side of things, and a few jottings about the physical descriptions of the walls themselves. A few traced letters – yes, they certainly did seem reminiscent of the markings they had seen, although a pale imitation. And, ah! A quote that had intrigued him enough to copy it out.

_“It was as if they pulsed with a kind of power, an unknown energy that, if unlocked, might be harnessed by the reader.”_

He remembered how exciting that had sounded, and he might have been disappointed not to have been able to observe it himself, had he not seen the effect on his companion. He searched in his pack for something to use as a bookmark, although he thought it might be better to wait until he had a chance to track down a copy of the book before bringing it up with Nerussa.

He sighed, and pulled out his copy of Remanada. He probably should read something new, but right now he was too worried to truly concentrate, and he would only have to reread the same phrases a dozen times, he suspected. 

***

When she woke, and after eating another good meal, Nerussa felt far better. She was actually surprised she had been able to speak, earlier. It had felt very like how she got when things got too much in other ways, but usually in those situations she struggled to get words out, and needed to count to focus. She supposed she had just needed so badly to say out loud what she had experienced that the need had won out? She didn’t know, and she wasn’t really recovered enough to think too much on it. She and Lucien spent the evening by the tavern’s fire, reading, and went to bed early, relieved that there was no bard in the Nightgate.

Morning came, and they decided to return to Windhelm. No word from Rumarin, so they wouldn’t bother him, but over breakfast they agreed it was time to try Bleak Falls again, with their improved skills and spells. Still, it wouldn’t pay to be too rash, so they also agreed to seek out a mercenary – ideally a large one with a big hammer – to accompany them. Lucien brushed off Nerussa’s repeated thanks for the assistance with training costs, pointing out that “if you _hadn’t_ been able to cast that ward so effectively, _neither_ of us might have survived that whole experience.”

She couldn’t really argue with that.

In Windhelm, they headed for Candlehearth Hall. Susanna was attentive as always, in a less flirtatious sort of way, and pointed them at a large Nord in heavy, dark armour. “He’s older than some sellswords, but that just shows he’s survived. Most of the young ones that come in here are full of bluster, always telling their tall tales. He doesn’t need to do that. And he’s never tried to touch me, either.” Lucien thanked her for the advice, and pressed an extra silver into her hand when he paid for their mugs of tea. 

Stenvar cocked his head to one side and looked at the pair of them appraisingly. “What’s the job?”

“The Jarl of Whiterun has asked my friend here to retrieve something from a Nordic ruin. Very hush-hush, you know, very important stuff. We just need a little extra, well, muscle. Shouldn’t take more than two or three days, I shouldn’t think.”

“I see. Did the Jarl promise any particular payment? Nah, they usually don’t. It’ll probably be a piece of armour some noble left behind. Well, regardless, that’s your look out. If it’s just straight over there and back, nothing long term, let’s call it…” He looked them up and down, “two hundred and fifty silver. And I’ll come with you to the Jarl, just in case he’s feeling more in a coin payment sort of mood, and I’ll take a share of that, or if you’d rather I don’t, we can see if there’s anything particularly nice I can take away from the ruin. How does that sound?”

Nerussa nodded. “You have a deal.”


	14. Chapter 14

Bleak Falls Barrow was no less imposing this time, but at least nobody was shooting at them as they approached. There had been fresh snowfall since the last time, nearly covering the remains of the bandits they had fought with Gorr and Rumarin. Inside, Stenvar chuckled as his new employers tried not to retch as they passed the corpses of the two bandits by their long-cold fire pit. “Least it’s cold in here, be a lot worse otherwise.”

Nerussa shuddered, and they pressed on. The bandit in the room with the lever puzzle had been… found by skeevers, it seemed. Finally, they found their way to the chamber with the spider. The creature was still alive, but it did not seem to have recovered from the previous encounter. It didn’t take much to finish it off. Lucien wanted to take a minute to harvest some materials from the spider, so Nerussa and Stenvar crossed the chamber, where they used their torches to burn away the webbing covering the wall, looking for a way past. 

_don’t leave me..._

Shuddering, Nerussa pressed on, hoping that they wouldn’t find what she knew they would.

_...for Arkay’s sake!_

The head was slumped onto the chest, and as the web burned away, the corpse fell to the floor. Her stomach churning, Nerussa saw a glint of gold as she passed the torch near a pouch strapped across the Dunmer’s chest. She moved to open it, but Stenvar put a hand on her shoulder. He bent, pulling a dagger she hadn’t even noticed at his hip, and cut the straps of the pouch, handing it to Nerussa. 

“Figure my stomach might be more used to this kind of thing. Anything good?”

She opened the pouch, pulling out a slim journal and a large golden object. She turned it around, and it took a moment to really see it properly. It was some kind of sculpture, she thought perhaps a representation of a creature’s foot, with three symbols moulded into one side. Lucien, finished with the remains of the spider, walked over to see what was so interesting. 

“Oh, I’ve read about these! Look, see these symbols? Apparently, they’re needed, along with the claw itself, to open a certain type of lock that some of these Nordic ruins contain. I wonder if there’s one in here, that would be wonderful for my research!”

They moved the Dunmer’s body so they could pass, and pressed on. Down a set of steps, and into a chamber lined with openings, on which lay a mix of shroud-swaddled bodies and what Nerussa recognised with a shudder as resting Draugr. The three of them attempted to cross the chamber without waking the creatures, but as they neared the obviously trapped grate, they heard soft growls, followed by the sound of ancient iron boots clanking onto the stone floor behind them. 

***

Some hours later, after a number of fights, and a short rest to eat some bread, cheese and apples, and allow the two mages’ magicka to restore itself, they finally found the door Lucien had been hoping to see.

“Just look at these carvings, Nerussa! Oh, let me take a little time to sketch some of them! They’re incredible, I’ve read about them, of course, and studied other scholars’ sketches and representations, but the detail is always lost, or on the other hand they try to make it too much of an Art Piece and you start to question the accuracy… Sorry, I’m going on, aren’t I? I would like to take a few minutes, though, if that’s all right?”

“Yes, of course. The Academy wasn’t exactly big on Nordic history, so it’s all a little baffling to me, but I am intrigued, perhaps you could tell me about them later?”

Lucien nodded absently, already digging through his pack. He pulled out a large notebook and a wooden box, from which he carefully removed a wooden stick with a dark tip. Evidently for writing or in this case drawing with, she would have to ask more about that, later, too – it looked rather less fussy than the quill she used for her journal. While he worked, she considered attempting to make conversation with Stenvar, but he seemed as relieved as she would have been when she decided against it and reached into her own pack for the book she had been reading. 

_A Dance In Fire_ , volume two. She had read the series a hundred times or more at her Senna’s home over the years, it was hardly officially-sanctioned literature, but Senna had a way of getting away with having things that she really shouldn’t, somehow. Nerussa had been delighted to find the book in Sadri’s Used Wares, and found herself hoping to come across the other volumes in her travels. Apparently, they had been favourites of her grandfather, Senna’s husband that she had left behind. Nerussa would have liked to have known more about him, but Senna refused to say anything, even when she had been smoking her hookah. But he had loved these books, and that was something they had in common.

When Lucien had finished his sketching, they approached the ominous, dark metal door at the furthest end of the Hall. Sure enough, there were rings in the door, with symbols similar to those on the claw. Stenvar turned each ring, twice, until the symbols matched the order on the claw itself, which Nerussa gingerly pushed into the indentation at the centre of the lock, and turned it a little to the right. For a few moments, nothing happened, and Lucien made a frustrated little harrumph, but then the rings started moving by themselves, from “bear, moth, owl” to three owls in a row. The door made a noise of protest, then slowly began to sink into the ground.

They stepped across the threshold to a narrow stairway. The passage soon opened into a small antechamber, where they disturbed a colony of bats. They could see a number of Draugr a short way ahead of them, but they appeared uninterested in the three living people passing them by, which was somehow even more unnerving than if they had attacked. Pressing on, they were soon in the main chamber, or, rather, cavern. The earlier rooms had felt at least partially hollowed-out, or at least as though they had been enlarged, the elaborate carvings seemingly at least partly intended to distract from the roughly hewn stone underneath. But this was clearly a naturally-occurring cavern, although it was interesting to wonder whether the perfectly-aimed shaft of light which fell on what she realised with trepidation was another Word Wall, was the result of some human crew digging through the roof of the cavern, or whether the wall itself had been constructed to align with the light from an already-present hole, perhaps on some symbolically important date or time.

She rather hoped it wasn’t the latter, because what would _that_ imply about this date and time? Lucien put a hand on her arm.

“Will you be all right, going near that thing? We don’t have to, you could wait here, the Dragonstone must be somewhere up there, Stenvar and I could..?”

She shook her head. “No, whatever that was, it probably won’t happen again, and if it does, well, at least this time I know what to expect. I’ll be fine. Come on!”

With a glance over her shoulder at the waiting… damn, not the best word. The standing Draugr, that was better. With a glance over her shoulder, Nerussa walked as boldly as she could, over the small stone bridge, and up the steps to the base of the dais by the Wall. There was a large, ornate chest on one side, which yielded no Dragonstone, but a few ‘nice things’ for Stenvar, and a black, leaden sarcophagus, seemingly tightly sealed. A sound came from the other side of the cavern, and as they looked back, they saw several pairs of blue glowing eyes turn, in unison, towards them. Stenvar smiled, readied his silver-plated warhammer, and charged. Nerussa and Lucien ran after him, but the Nord felled the first five Draugr in a single sweep of his hammer. These seemed less active, less quick on their feet than the Draugr in the rest of the ruin. Just as well, because even Nerussa’s magicka reserves were, she felt, badly depleted. As they crossed back across to the dais, she took a blue vial from her belt and swallowed the contents, because she was not expecting the sarcophagus to remain sealed.

The Wall had been quiet up to now, but as she passed the dais, she heard the chanting start again, and saw a word in the centre of the third row begin to glow. She paused for a moment, counting in the old Aldmeris, to soothe her nerves. 

_Para, vera, nata..._

Taking a slow breath, she moved forward. Lucien muttered something behind her to Stenvar, but she could only half hear them. Again the chanting grew louder, more insistent as she approached, but _...ehca, nosci, ethi..._ she maintained her slow breaths, fell back to Phynaster’s careful steps, a lifetime of training bringing them back easily, and she vaguely wondered at having not realised she had been moving differently, recently... _...banto, yendo, quento..._ Her hand started to raise up, reach out to the glowing letters, but she refused to let it, walking carefully forwards, her posture straightening, she was _Altmer,_ damn it, whatever this Nord rubbish was, it wasn’t going to get the better of her. When she was close enough that, if she’d allowed herself, she could have reached out and touch the stone, feel the ancient carved letters with her fingertips, it broke over her once more, but this time, she didn’t feel drained, if anything, she felt revitalised.

_**FUS** _

Behind her, she heard metal scraping over metal, and a loud clattering sound as the sarcophagus’ lid fell to the stone. Spinning around, she shot the creature with a firebolt from each hand, as Lucien blasted it with Flames and Stenvar’s hammer took its legs from under it. Another with the horned helmet, like Gathrik, and likely it would have been a nasty opponent if it had managed to rise from its slumber fully. The Dragonstone lay in the centre of the empty sarcophagus, and even Stenvar seemed to struggle for just a moment to lift it. He raised an eyebrow at Nerussa, his eyes darting to the Wall behind her, but clearly he thought better of saying anything. 

Beyond the platform they were on, a passage seemed to lead out of the room, and Stenvar suggested they take a closer look. “A lot of these old temples had an easy way out, maybe in case the priest upset the worshippers, I dunno. Either way, better than backtracking if there is one, believe me.” 

Sure enough, a few minutes later, they found themselves on a rather precarious ledge, the sky darkening as night fell. They passed what looked like someone’s old campsite, abandoned after a struggle, by the looks of it. Bandits, maybe, or wolves? By the time they reached Riverwood, night had well and truly fallen, and they were grateful for the lanterns at the side of the road as they approached. 

The Riverwood Trader was still open, and they went in to try and lighten their loads a little. The shopkeep and his sister were having some sort of argument, which turned out to be relating to the golden claw from the barrow. The siblings introduced themselves as Lucan and Camilla Valerius, and offered Nerussa the use of a small cabin on the outskirts of the village “for as long as you want, within reason, of course!” as a reward for returning the claw. Stenvar decided to head to the tavern, and then make his way back to Windhelm, while Nerussa and Lucien went to see the cabin. It was small, warm, and comfortable, just what they needed. There was a little polite arguing about which of them would take the floor, but ultimately Nerussa won, setting up her bedroll for the night, after pointing out that she was rather too tall for the bed, in any case.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note/mild spoiler perhaps: this chapter (and the following one) deals with Blood on the Ice, a Skyrim quest involving a grisly series of murders. There are some pretty unpleasant moments, although I don't plan to go into great detail or dwell overly on anything truly gruesome (although, well, if you've read the Butcher's last journal, that's gonna come up. *shudders*) Still, some reader discretion is advised, so to speak. You won't miss an awful lot if you just read the quest summary over on uesp.net, and come back in a couple of chapters' time.

They were woken early by banging on the door. When they opened it, they found a smiling young man.

“Ah, I’ve been looking for you! Got something for you, your eyes only… Here you are!” He pressed a paper into Nerussa’s hand, turned on his heel, and ran off. 

_Nerussa!_

_Hope you’ve dealt with that matter in Riverwood, you’re needed in Windhelm. Another murder, and people are starting to mutter about Wuunferth, saying it looks ‘ritualistic’. Know you’ve been studying with the old codger, and you’re a bit less likely to blunder around making matters worse than I am, you know how these Nords are about mages, even their own Jarl’s court wizard. I’ll tell the courier to ask around in Riverwood, hope you haven’t already gone back to Whiterun... Sorry, rambling, point is, get here as soon as you can! (Besides, I haven’t been able to find any decent trouble to get myself into without you around…)_

_R._

Nerussa had a funny feeling Balgruuf would have some new ‘urgent task’ for her the moment she returned the Dragonstone, so they hid the thing under a loose floorboard – hopefully Lucan was either honest enough not to search the cabin in their absence, or didn’t know the board was loose – and headed in the direction of Whiterun. In a stroke of good luck, as they arrived at the crossroads by the Honingbrew Meadery, they saw Bjorlam’s carriage approaching. They called out to the Nord as the horses drew close, and he was happy enough to slow down and take on an extra fare. The occupants of the carriage shifted along the bench, and they climbed aboard.

***

The tower across the waterfall seemed quiet, this time. Nerussa and Lucien exchanged glances, but said nothing. Some time later, they arrived at Windhelm, where Rumarin was pacing anxiously around the stables. 

“Finally! You should go straight to the Palace of Kings, speak to the Jarl’s steward, Jorleif. Annoying fellow, but he’s the one to ask about all this.”

“Who was the victim? Anyone we’d know?”

Rumarin glanced at Lucien, then back to Nerussa. “It was Susanna, the girl from Candlehearth. They found her body yesterday morning, stripped naked but nothing actually taken… Well. That’s not strictly true. You should speak to Jorleif, and if you haven’t eaten yet, you might want to wait.”

“Why would anyone want to kill Susanna? She was so friendly!”

“I suspect that may have been what they didn’t like about her…” Nerussa muttered, darkly. 

In the city, they overheard two women talking about the murders, and it certainly sounded as though Rumarin had been right about the suspicion falling on Wuunferth. They hurried toward the Palace – the old codger had certainly seemed a surly sort when they’d spoken to him before, but murder? Honestly, that seemed like it would take him away from his books longer than he’d be prepared to put up with. 

Inside the Palace, they heard two gruff-voiced men talking loudly in a side room. She recognised one of them as Ulfric Stormcloak – she hadn’t heard him say an awful lot at Helgen, but his voice was rather distinctive. Trying to keep her face neutral, she approached a man standing near the throne, and asked whether he was the Jarl’s steward.

“Yes, what do you want, Elf?”

“I would like to speak to you about the recent murders. I understand the guard is stretched rather thin, and they have not been able to investigate the matter?”

He folded his arms, regarded Nerussa and Lucien for a moment, then nodded.

“If you offer your aid, I gladly accept. The guards will be told to assist you as necessary. I'm happy to lend a hand as much as I can, as well. I suggest you start with Helgird, at the Hall of the Dead." 

***

The Hall of the Dead was unsettlingly similar to the chambers in Bleak Falls Barrow, but the Priestess of Arkay herself was surprisingly jovial. Nerussa remembered with a little guilt that she had yet to return to the Priestess in Riften to let her know her father’s dagger had been delivered. After Whiterun, they should head to Riften. She could pick up more work, too. 

The elderly Nord confirmed that the girl had not been robbed, but pointed to several strange incisions on the body, and explained they appeared to have been made with embalming tools similar to the ones she used. “The basic shape of them hasn’t changed in thousands of years, you’ll find similar ones in ruins, by the looks of you. But they’re… an unusual thing to use to kill someone with, yes? Well, when I took a closer look, I understood. He’s… taken parts of her. The other girls, it was less obvious, I think he had taken the time to disguise it, because they were cut up much worse than Susanna. But look, her leg. There’s pieces missing. The other cuts seem to be what killed her, but this… It makes no sense.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us? Did anyone see anything?”

“I heard some commotion and came outside to see what was going on. Silda, the beggar who usually stays near one of the braziers in the Stone Quarter, was standing near the body, and so was that damn fool Calixto who has the ‘House of Curiosities’” Helgird grimaced. “I’d speak to them, if I were you.”

Nerussa had briefly met Calixto when she had been looking for Sadri’s shop on their first visit to Windhelm. He had invited her to take a tour of his so-called museum, but she had backed right out of the place. Something about it had felt wrong, and she hoped that he wasn’t the one responsible – maybe if she had acted on that feeling? But then, people were having ‘bad feelings’ about Wuunferth, and it didn’t seem likely that both of them were involved. They left the marketplace, and decided to split up. Lucien went to find Silda, and Nerussa gritted her teeth and headed to Calixto’s residence. 

Fortunately, the Imperial was just leaving the building as she arrived, so she was able to speak to him without going inside.

“Always a shame, when someone has to die…” There was that bad feeling again. “I’m sorry, dear girl, I did see a fellow running away, past the Hall of the Dead, to Valunstrad. Didn’t get a good look at him, though. Dark clothing, hood, that sort of thing.”

She thanked the man and headed back to look for Lucien. Silda hadn’t seen much, either, so they headed back to the graveyard, to see if they could find anything else to go on. Thankfully, the sun was still high enough that the narrow passage that held the few grave stones wasn’t entirely in shadow, and after some time they found a scattering of blood drops on the icy steps leading up towards the part of the city where Nerussa had gone to return Sadri’s ill-gotten ring. The direction Calixto claimed to have seen the culprit heading. 

Following the intermittent trail of blood drops, they ended up in front of a large house, which a passing guard told them was called Hjerim. “Speak to the Shatter-Shields, next door, if you want access, but mind your manners. They’ve not long lost their daughter to the Butcher, and it was her house.”

***

The Shatter-Shields’ home reeked of alcohol, although the mother of the family seemed sober enough. It didn’t take too much to persuade her to lend them the key to Hjerim, once she understood why they needed it, so they took their leave.

Outside Hjerim, they took a moment to prepare themselves for whatever they might find inside.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note: Another BOTI chapter. Expect nasty things. Not overly drawn out description (not really my style), but still. Yech.

The house had been largely emptied of the previous inhabitant’s belongings, but a few bits and pieces had been left behind. Some pots in the kitchen, a chest in an alcove near the stairs, and two carved wardrobes against the wall furthest from the door.

There was a pervading smell of damp and mould, with something else underlying it. The trail of blood was harder to see on the dark floorboards, even with Lucien casting Candlelight, but they managed to follow it to the chest. Opening it revealed a small pile of papers – some sort of pamphlet, warning the women of the city to “Beware of the Butcher”, clearly roughly ripped down from where they had been displayed.

Underneath the papers was a journal. Much of it was barely legible, but a few sections were relatively coherent. It seemed the “Butcher” had followed poor Susanna on at least one other occasion, had spent time at the College of Winterhold, and was working on something he referred to as ‘Flesh Magic.’

“That rings a bell. Do you recognise the term, Nerussa?”

“Yes… But I hope it’s something different, though I suspect it isn’t. From what little we were taught of it, Flesh Magic is old, very old. Merethic Era, maybe even before that. Mannimarco, the ‘King of Worms’, is supposed to have revived it, so to speak. It’s similar to Necromancy in some ways, the chief difference is, from what I recall, it can be used to create a new… body of sorts.”

Lucien visibly shuddered.

“I remember something along those lines, now. During the Interregnum, I believe… Weren’t they called ‘Flesh Atronachs’? That doesn’t sound… Good.”

Murmuring agreement, Nerussa stood and approached the wardrobes. The other smell was stronger here. Similar to when they had returned to Bleak Falls, which, well, made sense, she supposed. 

Between the two wardrobes was a small bookcase, piled with more pamphlets. 

“I think there’s something under those.” Lucien reached past her and swept the pile onto the floor, revealing a dark metal pendant on a thin leathery cord. Neither of them much wanted to touch it, but after a pause, Nerussa used the corner of the journal to flip it over. A deep green stone was in the centre, carved into the shape of a skull.

They both recoiled. The Necromancer’s Amulet. Mannimarco again. Damn. Lucien opened the wardrobe to the left of the bookcase, and cut a strip from a dress which hung inside. Carefully, he used it to pick up and then wrap the amulet, stuffing the whole lot into the pouch on the side of his pack.

That left the other wardrobe. When they opened it, a faint draft ruffled Lucien’s hair, bringing with it more of the same rotten smell. A false back, then. Pushing gently on the panel, Nerussa felt a click, after which the panel slid smoothly to one side.

She rather wished it hadn’t.

The smell was so much worse, now. That was the first thing. A small space, dominated by a stone slab raised on blocks, some sort of altar, mots likely. Buckets on the floor containing assorted strips of… flesh, and a quantity of congealed blood. Bones scattered the floor and altar, along with empty wine and ale bottles, and after a moment she realised that the thing on the floor, half covered by a bloody rag, was a plate of food.

“Lucien, I’m about to go inside. If you can’t see past me into this room, I suggest you go and wait by the stairs.”

Lucien began to protest behind her, but clearly thought better of it. As she crossed the threshold into the grisly little room, she heard his footsteps receding behind her.

Among the wreckage of what must have been a number of young women – Helgird had not mentioned any missing bones, let alone two ribcages, a pelvis, and a skull – she found a second journal. The first page was written in a careful hand, and was identified at the bottom of the page as a translation of a translation of an Aldmer text. The rest was even more rambling and nonsensical than the first journal, though it was evidently intended as an analysis of the opening text, and possibly other references.

“I think whoever the Butcher is,” she remarked as she passed Lucien on her way to the door, “he has clearly brought some of his… materials from outside the city. That doesn’t sound much like Wuunferth either, does it? I don’t know about you, but I need to find a bathing room, scrub myself raw, and then I think we should probably head back to the Palace, but upstairs this time.”


	17. Chapter 17

**_19th Hearthfire_ **

I wish Lucien would hurry up and finish in the bathing room, I've already bathed three times since yesterday, but I still don't feel clean. What we found in Calixto's chest was somehow even worse than the hidden room in Hjerim. Maybe. I don't know.

After yesterday evening's post-bath entry, we visited Wuunferth's chambers as discreetly as we could. He seemed surprised at my suspicion of Callixto, but was of the opinion that such instincts were often worth pursuing, particularly in the absence of any other suspects. He also suggested having words with Viola, the woman who has been posting the flyers around the city. That didn't get us far, though, as she had already made her way through a good half bottle of bad wine, and only seemed annoyed that we were standing in the way of her view of "the Captain". 

So, this afternoon (apparently he doesn't open the "museum" until after lunch), we visited the House of Curiosities, and paid for the tour. One of the first things he showed off was a set of embalming tools. The rest of the exhibits were utter rubbish, clearly junk picked up cheaply and given false histories, though I'll admit he had a certain showmanship in his telling of them. 

After the tour, I showed him the Amulet (it was very unnerving to touch it with my bare hands, but I couldn't give any indication I knew what it truly was.) He made up some rubbish about it belonging to the Court Wizard, but offered to buy it from me. Dubious, certainly, although in the context of his museum, not damning enough by itself. 

Taking a gamble, I decided to "take him into my confidence" and suggested that we had already been considering whether Wuunferth might have something to do with the murders. He was more than happy to encourage such a line of thinking, of course, and asked to see the journal we had found. I only showed him the first one, and he leafed through it, "finding" passages that could be read as written by Wuunferth suspiciously quickly. I think he realised his mistake, as he seemed a little nervous when he returned the journal to me.

We turned as though to leave, and as we moved toward the door, I bade him farewell in Altmeris. I didn't really expect it to work, but he began to reply in the traditional manner, then fell quickly silent. As we turned back towards him, he drew his blade. 

Once he was no longer a threat, we searched the place, and finally found the last piece of proof, although his attack would likely have been enough. A third journal, in the same hand, and the most revolting by far. We handed them all to the Jarl's steward, along with the other things we had found, although he refused to accept the amulet. Can't say I blame him. Perhaps now would be a good time to investigate that note I picked up in the Bee and Barb a while ago, get rid of the thing that way. 

Oh, thank whoever might be listening, I can hear Lucien on his way up the stairs. He's made up another of his little songs, and... Yes, that's definitely him. "Ooh, Detective Lucien is on the case," indeed!


	18. Chapter 18

After some discussion, they decided against Solitude for now. Too risky, much too close to the Embassy. Instead, they took a carriage to Riften, where Nerussa collected payment from Delvin, and asked a favour of him.

"Course I got good hiding places, gel. What do you take me for? I'll hold onto it for now, though if you don't show up again afore the middle o' next month, it may end up _too_ hidden... Oh, don't look at me like that, I'm only messin' with ya. Matter o' fact, got a favour to ask myself. You heading back to Whiterun soon?"

She handed over the amulet and took a few notes in her journal, in her usual cypher, and headed back to the marketplace to find Lucien. Before the Ragged Flagon, she had stopped in to speak to the Priestess of Arkay in the Hall of the Dead, who said not to worry about the delay in returning, that she had felt a caress on her cheek some time ago, and knew it was a message from her father. She had insisted that Nerussa take a spell tome from her, a stronger version of her Healing Hands, and Nerussa showed it to Lucien, who was waiting by Brand Shei's stall. She rather suspected he was trying very hard not to wonder where she had been for such a long time, and perhaps choosing to believe she had been with the Priestess the whole time.

They arranged a carriage to Riverwood, and this time she had more than enough to compensate the driver for a night spent in a tavern before he returned to Riften the following day. The road to the west was pretty, the lake on one side, mountains on the other, and early autumn beginning to turn the leaves from green to a variety of warm tones. The carriage followed the road around the south of the Throat of the World, towering high above them, its peak not even visible at such close quarters.

By late afternoon, they reached Helgen, and were relieved to see the place was being guarded – and slowly cleared of debris and rubble – by a number of Legion soldiers. They were suspicious at first, until one of them recognised Lucien as "Captain Lyra's boy!" 

Lucien blushed, as the soldier started boasting about having visited the Flavius home once on an errand, but it was clear his mother was held in high regard by the whole group, which evidently mollified the young man considerably. Thankfully, the carriage driver seemed not to be a particular supporter of the rebels, and waited aimiably enough for the soldiers to finish their conversation with his passengers, and wave them through. By the time the sun began to set, they were drawing close to Riverwood.

The Dragonstone was, thankfully, still in its hiding place. Lucien asked if he could spend some time examining it, and so they spent the evening, Lucien poring over the inscription on the reverse of the stone, Nerussa making notes in the margins of her new spell tome. 

"It's obviously the same script as those walls we found. Do any of the symbols look familiar?"

Nerussa was a little startled, but looked over at the stone. The two Words she had... learned from the walls both started with an "f" sort of sound, but she couldn't see the symbol they had both shared. That would have been too helpful, she supposed. She did see several instances of the second symbol in "Feim", a vowel, although not necessarily the "e" she had intuited. One instance of the third symbol, and a few of the final symbols of each of the two words.

-e- --- u-  
m------ -----e  
e-ei su-e-- se  
\---ui- ----- 

Lucien frowned at the page in front of him. "Well, that's a fat lot of good. Still, the map on the other side is intriguing. I've copied these star-like symbols onto my own map, as best I can. We should definitely try and keep an eye out for what corresponds to them, don't you think?"

She nodded, and began to get ready to sleep. This time, it was her turn for the bed, which was something of a relief, she had to admit.

***

As they approached Whiterun stables the following day, there was a strange feel to the air, although neither of them could quite put their finger on a description for it. Inside the city, they climbed the hill, passing the Temple of Kynareth and doing their best to ignore the ravings of the Priest of Talos.

Farengar was deep in conversation as they entered his quarters, with a woman who seemed vaguely familiar. Nerussa couldn't quite place her, not helped by the fact she, too, wore a hood covering most of her face. The voice was definitely familiar... 

Their conversation ended abruptly, the woman muttering approval of their having retrieved the Dragonstone, which Farengar took excitedly. As he carefully placed it on his desk to examine, a commotion began in the Great Hall, and a few moments later, Irileth, the Jarl's housecarl, rushed into the room.

"Farengar, you must come at once! You, too." She waved a hand at Nerussa, and the three of them followed the Dunmer up the stairs to a landing where Jarl Balgruuf stood, arms folded, brow furrowed.

A young guard also followed, and Irileth ushered him forward to address the Jarl.

He gave a brief report, and Nerussa's heart sank. Another dragon, this time circling the Western watchtower, which was along the road to Rorikstead. It hadn't attacked when his superior had sent him to alert the rest of the guard, and he freely admitted to relief at being allowed to run as far from the beast as he could. 

The Jarl thanked him, and told him to get some rest, then turned to the two She-Elves. "Irileth, head to the watchtower. You, my new friend, I have another favour to ask of you. You're obviously a capable sort, along with your young friend, there, and if you survived Helgen, well, that's more than a lot of soldiers managed. Would you further assist my city, by accompanying Irileth and the guard to the tower? There's a good chance you may have to fight that beast."

Nerussa was far from keen on that idea, but she couldn't quite bring herself to refuse, either. The Jarl told Farengar to find them some scrolls or a staff that might be of use against a dragon, and the three of them made their way downstairs. 

Lucien pulled Nerussa aside when they left the palace.

"I must admit, I'm a little anxious about the idea of confronting a live dragon in battle… I mean, it's exciting! I'll get to see something hardly anyone else is Tamriel has ever laid eyes on! But equally… it might roast us alive…"

Nerussa hadn't realised she was holding her breath, but she exhaled hard at that. "Honestly, Lucien, I feel the same way. But we could hardly refuse, could we? Anyway, so long as we stick together, and find decent cover when we can, we'll both get through this! I do think it might be sensible to enlist a little more help, though. Come on, I have an idea."

***

**_Report on the incident at the Western Watchtower_ ** __

_submitted by Irlieth, Housecarl to Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun, 21st Hearthfire_

At approximately midday, I received a report from one of the guards posted at the Watchtower of a dragon sighting. The creature had not attacked when he was sent by his superior to warn the Jarl, but was circling the tower. The High Elf known as Nerussa had just returned to Farengar with the object he had requested she retrieve, along with her associate, Lucien Flavius. Jarl Balgruuf requested that Nerussa attend the debriefing. I was assigned to lead all available guards to the tower to deal with the threat. The Jarl also asked Nerussa and her associate to accompany us as he felt they may be able to assist.

We proceeded to the muster point by the city gates, and Nerussa asked me to wait a moment. She entered the Drunken Huntsman and emerged a few minutes later with the mercenary Jenassa and a young Dunmer named Llerethis who I believe has recently joined the Companions. I considered sending a man to Jorrvaskr to enlist further support, but did not for the following reasons: 1/ I did not wish to involve more civilians than necessary, 2/ I did not wish to cause alarm among the citizenry and 3/ I was concerned that even at this early hour, the majority of the Companions would be the worse for drink. In total, the group numbered eleven, including six Whiterun guards and myself.

We again proceeded to the Watchtower, advising all civilians outside to take shelter inside the city walls. Special dispensation was given to the members of the Khajiit caravan to enter, provided they remained within the Drunken Huntsman, near the guards who remained in the city.

As we approached, it was clear that the beast had attacked (some damage to the building, areas of seemingly in-extinguishable fire on both grass and stone) but it was not visible. However, the only remaining guardsman warned us that the dragon had “snatched” the others who had been present.

Very soon after this, we heard the beast returning. I instructed all present to seek cover when possible, in particular the Altmer as that race is extremely vulnerable to magic, and it was clear that the fire issued by the creature was magical in origin. Thankfully three members of the party were Dunmer, which afforded us a great advantage as we were able to attack the creature nearly constantly with minimal effect from its breath. The humans in the party were quite badly affected by the flames, however none died because of them.

The majority of our attacks were ranged, either bow and arrow/crossbow and bolt or (in the case of myself, Nerussa, and the Flavius boy) Lightning Bolt spells. Nerussa seemed to have a near-inexhaustible supply of magicka, and appeared at one point to be glowing faintly - I did not feel it appropriate to discuss this with her at the time but will consult with Farengar at soonest opportunity. The Lightning Bolt spell seemed to have a strong effect on the dragon, however, I suspect a Frost spell would have worked even better (cf: tendency of creatures with innate Frost magic to be weak to Flame spells). I am uncertain whether the magicka drain effect of the spell reduced the creature’s ability to breathe fire, or whether it is magical but not magicka-based. I will discuss these additional matters with Farengar and make further recommendations after that.

Unfortunately, two guardsmen ran out of ammunition and, against my orders, but very bravely, decided to engage the beast in close combat. They did not survive. The creature has very powerful jaws, and an even more powerful tail which shook the ground when slammed against it. After approximately one hour and forty five minutes, the creature finally succumbed. It was then observed to disintegrate, with a bright light which at first appeared to be flame, however no heat was produced and Nerussa (who walked towards the beast at first, then backed away quickly) did not appear to suffer any injury or pain from it (see above re: Altmer weakness to magic). The light then proceeded to form into a swirling cloud around Nerussa, who appeared to absorb it.

The remaining guards were speculating as to the meaning of this, and I advised Nerussa to report back to Jarl Balgruuf while I continued to investigate the area. Unfortunately the bodies of the two missing guardsmen have not been found, however the beast’s stomach appeared to contain remnants of two Whiterun helmets, melted and crushed but with what seem to be pieces of bone inside. They are therefore considered missing, but presumed dead.

**Preliminary recommendations:**

* Any able-bodied Dunmer to be offered positions in the guard. Nords will also prove useful against frost breathing dragons if such things exist. The idea of a dragon breathing shock seems unlikely, but Irileth to liaise with Farengar on this matter. It is best not to make assumptions.  
* All guards to be supplied with extra arrows/bolts. Any guards with magical abilities, however small, to be taught basic Destruction magic. All guards to be instructed in no uncertain terms NOT to engage these creatures in close combat.  
* Irileth to learn Frost magic from Farengar and to obtain training in better use of Flame and Shock spells.  
* The deceased (or presumed-deceased) guards Hroki, Tor, Horulf and Yngling to be given posthumous promotions and their families to receive a suitable pension. The surviving guards, Leilof, Fringar, Lydia and Vilkhelm to be given suitable promotions for their stalwart defence of the people of Whiterun.  
* All intelligence on successfully fighting dragons to be shared with the head of the guard in ALL holds.

\- Irileth


	19. Chapter 19

"Nerussa! Where are you going? We need to report back to Balgruuf!"

She kept going. Phynaster be damned, she was taking strides as long as she could. Before long, they reached the Meadery, the mountain looming over them. Just as Nerussa was about to turn right towards Riverwood, the ground shook with the sound of a voice, or was it several?

" _DOV AH KIIN!_ "

She stopped dead in her tracks. Was that... aimed at her? No, that would be ridiculous. What did this Nord nonsense have to do with her, for pity's sake? So what if her mother's mother had an indiscretion, that didn't make her a Nord!

 _Nordling..._ The faintest echo of a memory. A chuckle in the voice, not the mocking tone Lemar might have used on the subject. She pushed it away. No room for that right now.

She realised she was just standing, staring up at the mountain. Lucien had caught up to her, was standing in front of her, looking up with concern in his eyes.

"That... um... that thing. With the lights, and the burning. I take it that's... new?"

She closed her eyes, began counting. Lucien waited.

"I can't say it's happened before, no. Although, to be fair, nor has..." she waved her arm back in the direction of the watchtower, " _that_. So, it's hard to be entirely sure, Lucien." Her voice was hard, and she felt a little bad, but he seemed to take it in his stride.

"No, I suppose not... Not a lot of dragons around in the Summerset Isles, either, then?" A small shake of the head. "Listen... I hate to speculate, but do you think it could have been... a soul?"

She looked at him, blankly. "A soul? As in... the _Dragon's_ soul?"

"Well, I haven't been able to find an awful lot of clear explanation on how it all works, but it seems likely that, just as with the souls of mortal creatures, Dragon souls can be thought of as sort of... energy. On death, that energy can be 'collected', so to speak, with mortal creatures, it requires a soul trapping spell to be cast, and a soul gem of the appropriate size..." He was on a roll, now, and carried on talking for several minutes, and somehow she realised that as he talked, they had started to walk back toward the city. Damn. Well, _fine_ she would go and inform the Jarl of the creature's defeat, and hope he didn't ask too many difficult questions, at least not without letting her rest, first. She suddenly felt so very tired.

***

Some hours later – there had indeed been a number of difficult questions – they walked in to the Bannered Mare, hoping that the rooms hadn't already been taken for the night. The Jarl had said something about buying property in the city, but that was still rather beyond Nerussa's means, although the thought of a private place to have a little cry was certainly appealing. "Dragonborn," they kept insisting on calling her, as though it was something to be proud of, as though it wasn't an utterly bizarre notion. She was _Altmer_ , for the sake of Auri-El. Had there ever been an Altmer, or even Elven Dragonborn before? Her head was swimming and she was grateful to Lucien, who got her a seat in a relatively quiet corner of the tavern, asked a large, armoured Nord to keep everyone else from disturbing her, and made his way to the innkeeper, presumably to enquire about beds. She pulled her hood as far down as she could, trying to block out the sound and lights that were starting to swirl around in her head. 

To her immense relief, Lucien returned quickly and ushered her up to the larger of the two bedrooms, somehow managing to carry a jug of water and a small bundle, which he unfolded on the dresser to reveal a small loaf of bread and some slices of beef. 

"Try and eat something, it should help, shall I leave you to it, or would you rather I stay for a while? I can read quietly in the chair…"

Words didn't seem possible, though at least she could still make out what he was saying to her. She shook her head, and did her best to smile as she pointed to the door. He nodded, and took the resonant sphere from his pocket, lifting it into her line of sight.

"If you need anything!"

She smiled again, more naturally this time, and waved him away. She didn't feel hungry, but managed to eat a decent amount of the bread and meat, the blanket pulled over her shoulders, before giving in to her body's insistent signals and crawling fully under the blanket to sleep.

***

Lucien was rather uncomfortable. The tavern was filled with people, all celebrating the dragon's death. That was, of course, entirely understandable, he was jolly pleased about it himself. But they were all very keen to buy drinks for him, and the others who had been at the watchtower.

The three Nords - he thought there had been another guard, but she was nowhere to be seen - all seemed far happier about the offers than he was, although he was doing his best to reply in good humour. "Oh, if you insist, a mug of milk would be perfect, you know us Imperials…" So far, he had kept the part about "...with our stronger teeth and bones…" under his breath, but he was very much looking forward to finding an opportunity to slip away into the bedroom he had rented, what felt like several hours ago. 

The two Dunmer didn't seem entirely comfortable drinking with a crowd of Nords, but they gradually relaxed as the evening wore on. The younger of the two got chatting to a tall, pretty Nord with braids in her hair, and after some discussion, they disappeared out into the night. The other caught his eye across the tavern and raised her drink to him. He nodded, and wished ever harder that the evening would end. 

Oh, no! She was coming over to his table.

"Not enjoying the attention, hmm? Afraid you're likely to get a lot more of it if you stay with that one upstairs."

He smiled, weakly. 

"I think you'll grow into it. You're already hard to recognise as that scared little boy who came into the Huntsman last month looking for training. Decent form with the bow, too, though it's clear your strengths lie more in the magic stuff. Look, would you like me to create a diversion so you can slip away?" 

"Oh, no, that won't be necess…" out of the corner of his eye, he saw yet another woman trying to catch his attention… "Actually, yes, if you don't mind. That would be wonderful!"

The Dunmer woman chuckled, stood up, and began singing, not exactly tunefully, but with great enthusiasm. She waved her mug encouragingly, and soon the whole tavern was joining in with a rousing chorus of Mogo's Mead, and - wonder of wonders - totally ignoring him. Hoping the racket would die down soon, he grabbed his pack and dashed to the door of his room, shutting it gratefully behind him, and reaching for the wash jug.


	20. Chapter 20

"Nerussa, there's someone looking for you, are you awake, or shall I tell her to wait?"

The temptation to throw a pillow at the door, like a grumpy child, was great, but then the pillow would not be on the bed any more, which would make it harder to go back to sleep. She sighed, and called out "I'll be down shortly," then realised she was still in her robes from the night before. Grumbling quietly to herself, she found her pack, exactly where she had dropped it, and changed into her common clothes. Downstairs, she saw Lucien sitting at one of the small tables near the door, a plate of eggs and toasted bread in front of him. He gestured to the woman standing to attention next to him, although she would have been hard to miss.

"The Jarl has appointed me to your service, as housecarl. It is an honour. My name is Lydia, although I'm sure you remember that..."

The woman wore a guard's uniform, looked to be a few years older than Lucien, inasmuch as Nerussa was any judge of human ages, and had braids in her dark hair.

"Oh, yes, vividly. You were at the Watchtower, yes? You fought well."

Lydia looked pleased enough at that, and Nerussa sat down, motioning to the housecarl to join them. She looked uncertain, then sighed and pulled out a chair. Saadia, the barmaid, came over with two more plates of food – you got what you were given at the Bannered Mare for breakfast, but it was decent enough, and the eggs were fresh and well-seasoned.

"So, Lydia. I don't wish to seem ignorant, but... what exactly _is_ a Thane?"

The Nord laughed, then looked at her strangely. "Oh, you're serious? Well, the Jarl has recognised you as a person of great importance in the hold. The title of Thane is an honour – a gift for your service." She dropped her voice, "it can also help if you get in trouble with the guards, although don't expect them to ignore _everything_. You've done a lot for the Jarl, in a short time, and of course with you apparently being Dragonborn, it's also quite a feather in his cap to have you in his court. Don't tell him I said that, though."

Nerussa considered the young woman before her. She spoke of honour, yet there was a certain sarcasm to some of her words. Nerussa decided she liked her. "And you're my housecarl?"

"Yes, my Thane, I am sworn to your service – I will guard you, and all you own, with my life."

"Does that extend outside the boundaries of this hold?"

"Certainly, if you wish me to, I will accompany you anywhere. Within reason... If you do not wish me to accompany you, I can stay in the barracks for now, although at some point you will likely be expected to buy a property in the city, or at least somewhere in Whiterun hold, which I will then guard when you dismiss me. There's a nice house in the Wind District, currently for sale. Breezehome."

"I'll certainly consider that, although for the moment I don't think my purse extends quite that far. Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Lydia. Has Lucien introduced himself? Good. After breakfast, I have a private appointment in town, after that, we're taking the carriage to Markarth."

***

Thankfully, Battle-Born's task was simple enough, although it left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. Thievery was one thing, but helping someone get away with murder… Well, it was done, now. She met Lydia and Lucien at the stables, and climbed into the carriage while Lydia went to find the driver.

***

The weather was fine, and they decided to get out of the carriage shortly before Markarth, to trade with a Khajiit caravan and walk the rest of the way. As Lucien spoke to Ri'saad, two men ran past, bleeding and terrified. Lucien quickly finished his transaction, and they hurried after the men, who crossed a small bridge to what seemed to be a mining settlement on the outskirts of the city. 

It seemed the men had come from another mine, further from the city, which had been attacked by Forsworn. The miners were the only survivors of the onslaught, and initially refused Nerussa and Lucien's offer to deal with the problem. Lydia pulled them aside to ask if they knew what the Forsworn were, and explained that the hills of the Reach were dotted with encampments of Daedra-worshipping Reachmen, living like bandits, consorting with Werebeasts and Hagravens. 

"Well, I don't know about you two ladies, but _I_ don't think people like _that_ should be allowed to take over these fine gentlemen's establishment!" 

Nerussa nodded firmly in agreement, and Lydia looked at them both, looking a little impressed. "Very well, I swore to protect you. Looks like it's time to get started."

The mine was a mile or so along the road toward Solitude. As they approached, an arrow whistled past Nerussa's ear.

"That's close enough – this place belongs to the Forsworn, leave now or face the consequences."

Lucien stepped forward, spells charged. "I'm terribly sorry, madam, but you see... We _are_ the consequences."

***

Some hours later, they finally made their way up the hill toward Markarth, a little bloodied, but with no serious injuries. As they rounded the bend halfway up the hill, Markarth came fully into view, a grassy area in front held a stable and a carriage, beyond that, stone steps led up to a pale stone structure with golden bronze metal inlays. Two guards lounged lazily in front of the door, which was a complex affair in the same strange metal. Nerussa could practically feel the waves of enthusiasm coming from Lucien.

"A genuine dwarven city, open for us to explore?! Oh, gosh, this is so exciting! Let's get inside!"

Lydia huffed a little, she had told them on the way that she'd grown up in Rorikstead, which was around halfway between Markarth and Whiterun, so she had made many trips to Markarth's market as a child, and later to the tavern, as well. Mostly she thought of Markarth as a bad place to get lost after a few too many, because if you found yourself on the higher levels, you'd be safest waiting until morning to try and get back down.

Nerussa suspected Lydia was right on that point, but she had to admit to herself, she shared Lucien's enthusiasm. Her Senna had sometimes, if she was in a very good mood, told her stories of her youth when she had spent some time in Morrowind, exploring the Dwemer ruins there. She generally described the architecture as quite different from what was in front of them, and Nerussa made a mental note to ask Lucien about that.

"Welcome to Markarth, travellers, safest city in the – Lydia? In uniform, eh? Not an official visit, I hope?" 

Lydia rolled her eyes at the guard and walked past him without saying anything. Inside the city, she started to offer an explanation, but their attention was grabbed by a scream of pain, and a man yelling about the Forsworn.

A young woman with short, red hair lay on her back, blood spreading on the white stone beneath her, eyes staring into nothingness. The guards took the man down easily, and for a few moments, everyone in the marketplace just stood and stared. Lucien was visibly shaken, and the others took hold of him and walked quickly toward the tavern. 

As they waited for the door to go through its whirring, clanking opening procedure, Nerussa recognised the younger of the two Dunmer who had been at the Western Watchtower, being approached by a young man with light hair and odd markings etched into his face.

"Excuse me, but I think you dropped this." His eyes were pleading and the Dunmer raised an eyebrow, but thanked him quietly and pocketed the note, before vanishing into the crowd.

The door finally opened, and they walked into the tavern, where the proprietor and his wife were bickering. Their daughter, clearly uncomfortable in too-adult clothing, rushed over to the newcomers and escorted them to seats by the fire, taking their orders and muttering apologetically about her parents. An old Nord in rough fur-and-hide armour stood nearby, alternating between drumming and the least pleasant attempt at singing she had yet heard in Skyrim. Lydia explained he was a Skald, more of a traditional warrior-poet than the relatively melodic bards in most taverns, and Lucien visibly relaxed as he was distracted from the events outside by the pleasure of learning something new. When she finished her meal, Nerussa sighed and stood up.

"Unfortunately, I can't put this off any longer. Would you two mind waiting here, and arranging rooms for the night? I must go and speak to someone." Lydia looked like she was going to say something, but sighed and headed to speak to the innkeeper.

Nerussa changed into a simple pair of dark breeches and a nondescript grey tunic, keeping her hood on. She hoped to be able to find Ondolemar without the typical pair of guards that most Justiciars were flanked by at all times, but just in case, she'd rather not stand out too much. 

***

Inside the keep, she began by asking the nearest guard where she might find the Court Wizard, and nearly lost her balance when she walked over to the makeshift laboratory setup to find _Calcelmo_ , an old tutor of hers, fussing around, grumbling to a young man he soon introduced as his "bothersome nephew, Aicantar." She supposed if she was going to find him anywhere in this province, though, Markarth would have to be it.

They spent a little too long catching up, and as he gave her a copy of one of his books on the Dwemer, she remembered why she was here. Blast. "I'm so sorry, Calcelmo, but I need to try and find Ondolemar. Do you know where he might be?" The older Mer raised an eyebrow, then waved irritably at Aicantar to "go find that damned fool, and bring him back alone, you understand?"

Some minutes later, two Mer approached. "Well, Calcelmo, what's so damn important that you had to disturb my evening's meditation?" Nerussa couldn't help but snort at that, "meditation" for him usually meant drinking and reading literature of dubious quality, although she was relieved to note that he didn't seem to have really made a start on it, this evening.

He looked directly at her, then. "Is that... _Staril_??" She drew in a breath, could tell Calcelmo was a little shocked at the informality. "Yes, Lemar," might as well answer in kind. "It's me. Can we speak for a moment? Alone."

An amused look crossed his face, and she hoped that was all she saw in it. He ushered her over to a quiet corner of the palace – which was strangely filled with rubble and detritus, as though it had only recently been discovered, not occupied by humans for centuries. Her mind was wandering again, she took a breath to try and focus.  
"Well, well, isn't this a surprise! I rather heard you had come to a tragic end at the hands of those incompetent Imperials…"

"Apparently not. Is that what the First Emissary believes, or just what people have been told?" A wry look crossed his face.

"In so far as I am privy to the beliefs of the First Emissary, she appears confident that you met your end at Helgen, yes. Of course, there have been rumours of a strange-looking She-Elf involving herself in local affairs, but these are clearly Nord provocations, and not to be paid much mind."

Nerussa rubbed her temple. Gods, she had forgotten how much more frustrating her people were than most in Skyrim, at least in matters like this. Nobody would just speak plainly.

"You won't say anything, will you? I'm assuming that I would not exactly be welcomed back if I showed up at the Embassy?"

He smirked. "Well, well, little Staril. It seems perhaps you are asking for a favour? Perhaps there is something you could do for me, first... Oh, don't look like that, I don't mean _those_ favours. Not this time." The smirk grew for a moment, before settling into an unpleasant grimace. "There is a Nord in this city I know to be worshipping the Upstart. Thus far, I have not been... permitted to search his home, in spite of my position here, the Jarl feels this "skald" is too well-liked in his city. However, if someone were to... stumble upon some evidence, I am certain the Jarl would see reason."

Nerussa kept her face as neutral as possible. It had been evident Lydia respected the man. But what could she do? She nodded. "Before I go… do you know anything about a tower near the Whiterun-Eastmarch border, built into the rock near a waterfall?"

"Ah, Cyrelian's little project. I would steer clear, if I were you."

She nodded again, and made her way out of the palace, following Ondolemar's directions to the man's house. She let herself inside, finding a simple, but comfortable home inside. A small lock box contained what she supposed amounted to the proof Ondolemar was looking for. She pocketed it, and made her way to the palace. Thankfully, Ondolemar smirked and pocketed the amulet, saying he looked forward to his audience with the Jarl the next day.

"You know, Staril, you always brushed aside my suggestion to visit a face sculptor, but it really might have been worth your while..."

She smiled at him as warmly as she could manage, and headed back to the tavern. A little more fortune, the Skald was still there, now regaling the small crowd with one of his poems, and her companions appeared to have retired for the evening. When he finally finished his performance, Nerussa approached the man.

"I'm afraid I must warn you, the Thalmor justiciar has been given proof of your… beliefs. He's planning to speak to the Jarl in the morning. If you have any way of leaving the city for a while, it might be best if you do."

He looked at her for a long time, then finally patted her firmly on the arm.

"I appreciate the warning, girl. I don't intend to heed it, but I appreciate it." She stared, open-mouthed.

"I've believed what I believe for a long time. I have no intention of running from what that means." With that, he lifted his drum and walked away.


	21. Chapter 21

Several days later, when Lydia left the cabin to walk Vigilance, a large grey dog Nerussa had bought from the stables at Markarth, Lucien cleared his throat. Nerussa, sitting cross-legged on the bed reviewing her latest set of spell notes, looked up, and he began to speak.

"Now, I am always happy to help villages, foil bandits, all that sort of thing. But we've been in Riverwood for nearly a week now, and I'm fairly sure we've dealt with everything even slightly threatening in the area. Are you by any chance trying to, oh, I don't know, put off heading to High Hrothgar?"

Nerussa stared down at her notes, though she could still see the Imperial out of the corner of her eye. 

"I'm quite certain I don't know what you mean." She tried to focus on her work again, but he was still looking right at her, when she glanced up at him, his expression was skeptical, one brow raised.

"Oh, fine. Maybe I'm a little apprehensive. Wouldn't you be?"

"Certainly not! If I was the one who went round absorbing power from dead dragons, I would have gone straight to Ivarstead and marched right up that mountain!"

She glared at him. 

"What? I would! Don't you _want_ to understand what's happening?"

"Lucien, who was the last person known as Dragonborn?"

"Well, Martin Septim! Surely you know about his role in the... Oh."

"Yes. Oh. And yes, I do know, although I'm not supposed to. Not exactly the official story where I grew up, you know."

He looked curious. "Then how did you find out?"

"My great aunt was... in Cyrodiil at the time."

Lucien blinked. "Goodness, you must tell me more about that some day! Back to the Greybeards, though. So, you're worried about what this might mean? Hmm. Well, I hate to say it, but surely you'd be better off finding out?"

Frustrated, she lay back on the bed, one hand buried in her hair. "Yes, I know. You're right. I'm just... scared. And surely I shouldn't be? I should be excited, or at least curious. But I'm terrified, and confused. That Shouting thing. It didn't feel _right_. It's like magic, but... horrible. And I'm an _Altmer_ , by Auri-El!"

"Don't you think the Greybeards are the obvious starting point for getting to grips with all of that? Or, let me put it another way. If you keep delaying answering their summons, the Greybeards may repeat it."

Nerussa groaned. "I hadn't thought of that. Very well, you're right. After Lydia gets back, we'll set off. I want to go the northerly route, I think the pass to the south is shorter, but it's too damned cold if we're not bundled up on the carriage, and I'd like to try and enlist some guards to help clear that damned tower on the road." She sat back up, tucking her notes into the back of the Command tome, which she was reasonably confident she could now cast. 

"We're _walking_?"

"Well, I was thinking of enquiring about prices at the stables... Can you ride?"

Lucien's face fell. "Absolutely not. I've tried, Divines know I've tried, but I just can't get the knack. Every horse I've tried to ride just throws me off, or maybe I fall off… Point is, no, I can't ride. Maybe I'll learn some day, but it's best to assume today is not that day!"

"Sounds like we're walking, then. It'll be fine, we can leave most of our things here, the exercise will do us good." 

***

As they approached the stretch of road near the waterfall, Lydia suddenly stopped, grabbing Nerussa's arm. Ahead of them, a Thalmor patrol turned onto the same road, roughly pushing a young Nord man who walked between the two soldiers.

"It's my cousin."

Nerussa had planned to just observe the exterior of the place, perhaps take a quick look inside the door if it didn't seem actively guarded. But if the patrol were taking their prisoner to Cyrelian… and this road passed that strange, inlaid tower, then straight north into Eastmarch. There was no way they weren't taking him to Cyrelian. 

Swearing under her breath, she motioned to the others to follow. Just as well the dog had stayed with Camilla in Riverwood, he was a fine attack hound, but not yet much of a sneak. Bad enough with Lydia clanking around in her guard's armour.

They watched as the group crossed the grass toward the river. The three Altmer poured something down the Nord's throat, then cast. Waterstride, and a potion for the human. They made their way easily across the water just ahead of the fall, and disappeared into the tower.

"I'm afraid we're going to have to get across the mundane way." Lydia began to protest, but Nerussa shot her a look. "We both know we can't leave your cousin in there. You are sworn to protect me, correct? Well, sometimes that's going to include coming along while I do reckless things, you may have noticed already." 

Before either of her companions could respond, Nerussa began moving quietly toward the river. Damn, she really would like to head up to Windhelm for some potions, but that really wasn't an option.

Lucien wasn't keen to be the one left watching their belongings, but agreed it did make the most sense. Lydia reluctantly left the metal plates from her gear, wearing just her gambeson and breeches to wade across the waist-high water. 

The pair squeezed as much water out of their clothing as they could, and pushed open the door. 

Inside, the tower was dimly lit, and it became obvious quickly that it had been abandoned so long that it had begun to subside, or perhaps it had been abandoned due to the floor being so much higher on one side. They made their way quietly and carefully down the stairs, stopping quickly when they spotted an armoured She-Elf at the bottom of the stairs, her back to them. 

Lydia pulled a dagger from her hip and crept closer to the soldier. Reaching the bottom of the steps, she stood up, and in one movement covered the She-Elf's mouth with her hand, and pressed the tip of the dagger to her throat. Nerussa saw the Nord whisper something, and the slightest shake off the Altmer's head. 

Lydia looked back over her shoulder, questioningly. Nerussa nodded, and Lydia drew her blade across the exposed golden throat above the eagle-styled gorget, carefully lowering the body to the ground to minimise noise. 

"No other soldiers inside, just her and the other two we saw, and this Cyrelian… How do you know that name?"

"I'll explain everything, but it'll take too long now. When we've got your cousin to safety?"

Lydia pulled a face, but relented. "All right…"

They pressed on, down a short flight of stairs, where a soldier sat, his back to them, helmet and gauntlets removed, absorbed in a book. Nerussa considered her options. Command was a very complex spell, and would drain a fair amount of her magicka. If it worked, it would be worth it, but if it failed… On the other hand, she had got the hang of casting her attack spells silently. She could just take this one out, like Lydia had, and they could keep going.

She closed her eyes, drew a slow breath, and charged Command. Opening her eyes, she aimed carefully at the back of the Mer's head, and loosed the ball of red light. It shot forward, and burst, suffusing the soldier in a faint red glow for a moment. He pushed his chair back, standing with strange, puppet-like motions, and turned to face her, a quizzical expression on his face. 

She swallowed. "You need to go to the Justiciar you arrived with. He is a traitor. You know what to do." The Mer, still moving in the same peculiar manner, nodded and turned abruptly toward the second small staircase out of the room. He marched stiffly down, and they followed as quietly as they could. 

"What are you doing, Honditar? What in Oblivion is wrong with you?" The Commanded Mer had his sword in his hand, and as they watched from the shadows, he advanced on his superior, placed one hand stiffly on his shoulder and brought the blade up, slicing through the black linen robe and beyond. The Justiciar, eyes narrowed with anger, had charged a shock spell as the other Mer moved towards him, and released it as the golden metal pierced his skin. 

The armoured Mer was badly hurt, but not quite finished by the spell, and he turned back toward Nerussa, his eyes clearing, his face a mess of more emotions than she had ever observed on an Altmer face. He moved toward them, but Lydia had drawn her bow, and one swift shot was enough to drop him.

Looking around, Nerussa saw they were in what had perhaps once been a large room, now separated into two blocks of cells, each two cells wide, three long, bars and metal doors separating them. They moved quickly to check each cell, and soon found Lydia's cousin, still simply bound at the wrists, in the cell at the end of the left hand block. A groan came from behind them as Nerussa charged her healing spell, and she spun around, the faint golden glow casting a soft light on a man who had clearly been in the cell long enough to experience Cyrelian's attentions.

He was shackled by the wrists at what might have been shoulder height for an average man, but the shackles were barely big enough to encircle his wrists, and his large frame was bent painfully into the space allotted to him, his head hanging slackly, dark hair spilling forward, covering much of his face. His eyes, though, were alert, and angry. 

She began to walk toward him, hoping the keys she had grabbed from the body of the Justiciar would fit, when he lifted his head back and spat at her feet.

"When I get out of here, I'll kill you all myself!"


	22. Chapter 22

"Gods, keep your voice down. Do you _want_ to draw attention? I'm not with them, look, my Nord companion is untying her cousin, does that seem like we're with the Thalmor?"

"What? Who are you, then?"

Nerussa began trying keys. "Who are _you_?" Damn, no good, so far.

"Kaidan... My name is... Kaidan." He sounded softer now, though still pained. She threw the keys down in frustration, then swore at herself for the sound – thankfully it seemed Cyrelian was paying no mind, at least so far – and slid her lock picking tools out of the pouch at her hip, getting to work on the lock as she continued.

"Very well, Kaidan. I'm Nerussa, and this is Lydia. I'm afraid I don't know her cousin's name yet. Next question – damn, these locks are more intricate than I'd have expected – what are you doing in here?"

He laughed, though with no amusement. "The Thalmor invited me to High Tea, what do you think?" He sighed, and as he did so, she finally got the first shackle open. His arm dropped, like a dead weight, and he winced, but bore the pain of the jolt on his other arm silently.

"I dunno... Some Justicars ambushed me outside of Falkreath."

"It's Justici... you know what, doesn't matter. This second shackle is going more quickly than the first, I'll have you out in a... Lydia, can you come over here and support Kaidan's weight when I unlock the second shackle? Thank you. There!"

Lydia grunted a little, but did an admirable job helping the bloody, beaten man to the floor, where he sat, slumped over. "You're life savers..." he muttered, sounding as though he was having trouble believing it.

Nerussa quickly began inspecting his wounds. Cyrelian's work, all right. He wouldn't have whipped the man personally, of course, that work was far too physical for a Mer like him. But he would have certainly ordered it, and observed, asking questions in his clipped voice, making notes. The cuts on his chest and arms, though, those would have been... personally inflicted. She asked Lydia to fetch some water from the river, hoping it was clean enough for the job. 

"I can heal most of this myself, I think, and I've got a potion that should work for the rest, but we should really get you to a trained healer. Do you think you'll be able to walk?"

"Aye, they've not done much to my legs, they're just sore from hanging like that... Should recover easily enough, I think."

"Good. I'm just going to check Lydia's cousin, when Lydia gets back with the water, we'll clean you up and then I'll get to work."

The cousin told her his name was Dagmir, and seemed largely unharmed, though badly shaken. "They took me near Darkwater, I was just walking down to Shor's Stone to pick up something from Filnjar, and those damned Elves..." he looked warily at Nerussa, "well, they were walking in the opposite direction. I didn't start anything – wanted to, but I'm not a fool. But they took one look at my uniform and before I know it, I'm walking along behind them. They cast something on me, I think. Make me follow, you know? Didn't last long, but before it was done, they'd tied me up anyway."

Lydia returned, then, with a bucket of water and some clean cloths, strips cut from the robe of the Justiciar, by the looks of things. "Lucien's still up there, reading. He waved to me, though, so he's not totally ignoring his surroundings..."

Nerussa nodded and began to clean Kaidan's wounds. Some were healing already, so he must have been here several days at least, possibly more. She doubted he would have had any way of keeping track. Thankfully, none seemed to be infected, a great relief. When she was done, she charged her Heal Other spell, it was costlier to cast than Healing Hands, but far better for serious wounds. She passed her hands over Kaidan's wounds, doing her best to follow the techniques Colette had explained, focusing her energies into the wounds first, then finally suffusing the man in a faint golden glow, to take care of the muscle fatigue and pain caused by days of suspension and contortion with his hands shackled.

"Talented hands you've got there..." He paused. "I mean, healing. It's a special gift." 

She stood back, surveyed her work. It wasn't flawless – a Master healer could likely have healed the skin without leaving scars – but she was satisfied, and he has looked like he might not make it to a real healer. Lydia and her cousin helped Kaidan to his feet, where he towered over all three of them.

"Come on, we need to leave."

Kaidan reached out and put his hand on her shoulder, his eyes – which somehow looked red in the dim light – pleading. "Wait. There's one more thing... One of the Thalmor, the one in charge, got his hands on my sword. I've no right to ask, I know, but... I could use some help getting it back."

"The sword is that important?"

He scowled. "This isn't me being sentimental. When they were torturing me, it was the main thing they asked about. If it's important to them, they shouldn't have it."

Hard to argue with that. "Where did he go?"

Kaidan pointed to the far end of the cell block, where she could just make out some steps, leading upward. "With any luck, he's cornered like a rat."

"I suppose there's no point asking you three to stay here while I deal with him? No, I thought not." She pulled a magicka potion from her belt, and handed a healing potion to Kaidan, just in case she had missed anything. Swallowing the gritty liquid, she tucked the empty bottle away and moved to unlock the other door to the cell. 

Sure enough, at the top of the stairs, they found a small chamber, evidently doubling as both living quarters and office for Cyrelian. The Mer was seated at a makeshift desk, piled with books and loose notes, clearly absorbed in whatever he was working on, as he didn't initially react to their arrival.

Nerussa lowered her hood, and stepped closer.

"Now, really, Nila, it's nice that you're so eager, but you can see I'm busy, please don't block my light." She waited, unmoving, and he finally looked up. "You? How did you get here, you're supposed to be dead!"

"Well, Cyrelian, you always said I was one of your most disappointing trainees. I'd hate to change now." He looked at her in confusion, but that dissipated when she charged her Shock magics, and Lydia stepped into the room, sword drawn. His eyes narrowed, and he charged his own spells, yelling in pain as the first Lightning Bolt hit him, causing him to lose focus and the spells in his hands to fail. 

Lydia grabbed the Mer by the arm, pulling him toward her blade. Moving her hand to his shoulder, she braced against him, driving the sword deep into his belly, before bringing her foot up to push his body off her blade. Kaidan rushed into the room, and siezed his sword from where it lay, propped against the wall. 

He turned to Nerussa. "I can't thank you enough. But... I have some questions." Lydia, who was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, spoke up. "So do I. You said you'd answer them, now seems like a good time."

Oghma's tits, she wished Lucien were here. He'd do a better job of explaining, she suspected.

"I can tell you the long version later, but the short version is, I grew up in Alinor, I was recruited into the Thalmor as a young She-Elf, it was an important job, or seemed it at the time. No, I wasn't a torturer – hence the 'disappointing' part – and no, I didn't fight in the War. I was sent to Skyrim to perform a task, but it's abundantly clear at this point that I was actually being sent to my death, having presumably tipped the balance between "useful" and "potential threat", or at least, liability. Needless to say, I no longer consider myself any part of the Thalmor's operations."

"Threat?" Lydia's voice was level. Kaidan had found what seemed to be a pile of his other things, and was pulling on a tunic and breeches as he listened.

"I was... trying to find information on something. I thought I was covering my tracks well enough, but I think it's fair to assume I was mistaken. I was 'promoted' to managing the mundane administrative tasks at the Embassy here in Skyrim, and shortly afterwards, sent on my first task 'in the field', as it were. I did wonder at the time why I didn't have any guards, but presumed it was because I needed to be inconspicuous."

Kaidan's expression was hard to read, but Lydia seemed to have come to a conclusion. 

"Can't say I'm happy to hear this, but when you charged in to help Dagmir without me even asking you to, well, you've earned my loyalty, and proven your own, in my book." 

Kaidan reached up to scratch the back of his head, a thoughtful look on his face.

"It's hard to argue with that, or with this son of a bitch lying dead on the floor. Listen, I owe you my life, and I'm not a man who's comfortable being in debt. If you have need of me, I'd be glad to fight alongside you until that debt is repaid." He had pulled the hair back out of his face, though the majority still hung loose, and in the torchlight she could see that his eyes truly were red, matching a tattoo on the side of his face which had been hidden by dark strands. She could see now that his hair was lank, and caked with more blood, but she got the impression that it had been well looked-after before. They would need to stop at the Mixwater Tavern anyway, he could bathe there and oh, gods, she hadn't said anything yet, had she?

"I'd be happy to have you travel with us, Kaidan. We should really leave, now, in case any more Thalmor show up."

He agreed, and the four of them left, Kaidan carrying his plate armour, Lydia stopping to quickly claim the cuirass and cuisses from the She-Elf soldier. They made it across the river and found Lucien, who had finished his book and was apparently annoyed with himself for not having brought another. 

As they walked, Lucien cleared his throat, and spoke to Kaidan. "Hello! I'm Lucien Flavius. It's a pleasure to meet you!"

Nerussa, walking behind them, saw Kaidan briefly glance down at the Imperial. "Likewise. My name's Kaidan."

"Ah, Kaidan... that's an unusual name. Where are you from, if you don't mind my asking?" 

Kaidan shook his head. "I wish I knew, but I'm trying to find out."

They arrived at the tavern, still soaking wet from the waist down, with the exception of Lucien, and Kaidan gladly took the key and slipped through the trap door into the bathing room. 

The innkeeper worriedly pointed out that there was nothing like enough room for all five of them to spend the night. He eventually agreed that they were welcome enough to sit by the fire until their clothes dried out, provided they bought a meal, and maybe some drinks. The two Nords were happy to take on Lucien's share of the mead, and Nerussa had a glass of surprisingly decent wine. When Kaidan emerged from the bathing room, Lydia and her cousin were already in their cups, giggling together about some family gossip. Nerussa and Lucien were sitting more sedately by the fire, Lucien having found something else to read, and Kaidan joined them.

"I needed that, thank you. Almost as good as that healing spell." He smiled at her, and she was struck again by his strange, red eyes. She was fairly certain he was no vampire, though – vampires did not, as far as she know, respond well to typical healing magics, and nor was their skin supposed to be warm enough that a healer's hands would feel it from inches away. 

She smiled back, trying not to stare. "So, what's the story with the sword?"

"The question on everyone's mind, including mine. It belonged to my mother. I never knew her, but it's the only clue I have to finding out more about her, it's got... writing on it, but not Tamrielic writing."

Lucien looked up from his book. "I'm sorry to hear that, it must have been hard for you." He started to say something else, but apparently thought better of it, and returned to his reading.

"I see. Perhaps when we're somewhere with a bit more space, I could take a look at it, if you like. I'm familiar with a number of scripts."

"You'd do that? I'd be very grateful." He ran a hand through his hair, which was already beginning to dry. "So, have any more questions? You look like you do." 

His manner was light, easygoing, but she couldn't help feeling there was a tension underlying his words.

"Well, I'll admit, I'm curious as to how you ended up in that cell, although I'll understand if you'd rather not talk about it."

Another smile, this time somewhat tight-lipped. Definitely tense. "Guess I owe you that. Well, I'd been trying to find a way to cross the border at Pale Pass, without much luck. In the meantime, I'd been camping on the north shore of Lake Ilinalta, picking up bounty contracts to keep some coin in my pouch. Must've drawn too much attention to myself. Woke up one morning to find my hands being tied together, my sword in the possession of that, what did you call him, Cyrelian? I think they must've slipped me something, or cast something on me, 'cause I couldn't seem to fight back. Seems they don't need much evidence to bring in suspects..." He nodded his head in Dagmir's direction, raising an eyebrow.

"They obviously took one look at my sword, decided they wanted to know more, and dragged me here."

"You seem to have... coped surprisingly well."

He laughed. "Brynjar used to say, 'if you're not a little afraid, you're not understanding the situtation.' Fear, I can deal with easily enough..." He sighed, and stretched his arms out, rubbing at his wrists. "There was a moment or two, though, when I started to think it really would... be the end for me. The Thalmor would never have let me go, would they? Even if I'd told them something 'useful'. I get the feeling you've faced down mortality, too. Perhaps you know the feeling?"

She couldn't hold his gaze then, eye contact was often difficult, but it felt like he was looking right into her soul. She looked at her glass, and considered filling it again. "More than you know..." she said, quietly. There was that echo of a memory, again. Whatever she had been through in the past weeks, it didn't compare to Kaidan's experience, but there was an unshakeable feeling that she had been through something that might.

His eyes were sorrowful when she met his gaze again, briefly. 

"Apologies. I didn't mean to... prod old wounds. But after all that, you're still standing. Still running into ruins to save people you don't even know."

She refilled the glass. "They'll come for you again, you know. And they're likely to come for me, eventually."

"Probably, but I'll be ready, this time. Live and learn, right? No more camping by myself, for a start..."

She chuckled. "That seems wise. Though I rather think we ought to get some camping gear, I'm not looking forward to traipsing to Kynesgrove. Hopefully Iddra won't be too annoyed with us knocking on her door in the middle of the night."

"Aye, but with a group, we can each take watch, and still have everyone get a decent bit of sleep." 

She nodded, and they lapsed into comfortable silence. After some time, they were dry enough to make the journey to Kynesgrove, where Iddra grumbled but didn't object too strenuously. It seemed one of the locals, Roggi Knot-Beard, had been keeping her from her rest already, so when Nerussa convinced him to let her pay his debt and leave for the night, Iddra was so pleased she only charged them half the usual rate.

First thing the next morning, they headed into Windhelm, where Lydia took Dagmir to the Barracks to report in, and get looked over by their healer, just in case. Nerussa and the two men visited the marketplace, where they bought two large tents, along with an extra bedroll for Kaidan. Inside the White Phial, Nurelion's face fell when he realised they had only come to stock up on potions and use the alchemy table. Lydia was waiting outside, and the four agreed to make the trip to Forsaken Cave immediately.

The cave contained, as Nurelion had suspected, a hidden entrance to an ancient tomb, populated by Draugr. In the main chamber, they fought one wearing the tattered remains of a set of robes, presumably Curalmil himself. There was a word wall: **_KRII,_** this time. She was relieved to find it did not exhaust her at all this time, and took out her journal to copy the marks down, sitting cross-legged on the floor to do so. Kaidan crouched beside her. 

"Would this be a good time to show you my sword?" he asked in a low voice, making her jump a little.

"What? Oh, of course, I can finish this afterwards." She put the journal down and took the sword, carefully. Ah. She could see why he'd chosen this moment. The script was clearly the same.

"I'm afraid I'm still puzzling this one out, I can recognise this symbol, and these. But the whole is still a little beyond me. It's already very much something I'm interested in, though, so as soon as I can, I'm more than happy to try and work out what it says. Of course... There's always a possibility it might just be pretty nonsense," she said apologetically.

"Aye, I've thought of that, it could be, but I feel like it's got to be more than that. Anyway, any help you can offer, I'll be glad of." He smiled at her, and stood up. She finished making her notes, and got to her feet. Thankfully, she han't left Nurelion's mixture back in Riverwood, and sure enough, when she poured it into the bowl in the small antechamber below the word wall, it glowed briefly, before being absorbed into the stone. This somehow triggered a mechanism and lowered a stone blocking the passage ahead. Inside they found some alchemy equipment, jars with strange dark residues coating their insides, and, on a pedestal at the centre of the room, the Phial itself.

Which was cracked. Gods damn it all. She hoped it would not crush Nurelion too badly – at least he had been proven right! - and wrapped it carefully in a piece of cloth, before packing it in a small wooden box filled with straw, that they had brought from the market. 

She wasn't surprised by Nurelion's reaction when they returned to his shop, where he had retired to his private quarters. She tried to warn him, but of course he was too excited to really listen. When he saw the crack, he became very quiet. "This... it matches every description of the Phial that I've found in lore. But if it can't hold liquid, there's no way of knowing. How did you manage to damage it, then? This is what I get for not retrieving it myself." 

"I am so sorry, _ceruval_. Unfortunately, the Phial was in this state when we arrived."

"Figures—I doubt you have sufficient knowledge to harm the Phial even if you wanted to. Either way, this is the end of it. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm not quite in the mood to entertain guests. I trust you can show yourself out. Here's for your trouble." He handed her a few coppers, and indicated she should leave, moving toward his bed. Downstairs, his assistant pressed a pouch of silvers into her hand, and would not take no for an answer. 

She couldn't quite face the walk to Kynesgrove, so they reluctantly paid for rooms at Candlehearth Hall. There was a bard this evening, who they hadn't seen perform before. A Dunmer. When they arrived, the tavern was largely empty, and she seemed to be practicing, picking out a haunting, mournful tune on her lute. As she kept playing, the tone changed, becoming hopeful, then triumphant. She started when she saw Nerussa and the others. "Sorry, not really what the locals want to hear."

"It was beautiful, I almost felt like I knew it somehow."

The bard looked at her curiously. "It's an old Dunmer tune, a more formal arrangement of a traditional Ashlander melody. It's hard to explain, but it has to do with a... folk hero of ours, I suppose."

The other She-Elf didn't seem comfortable, so Nerussa thanked her and found a seat. They spent a quiet evening by the fire, talking about this and that. There was a difficult moment when Lucien and Kaidan started bickering, but Nerussa was in no mood to get involved. It blew over quickly enough, and both seemed in a better mood when their evening's meal arrived shortly after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ceruval is a form of address used by Altmer in ESO, it seems to be gender neutral and a sign of respect for someone the speaker doesn't know well, so it seemed appropriate here.
> 
> Luaffyn is playing a version of Nerevar Rising, aka the Morrowind theme.


	23. Chapter 23

Studying Lucien's map over breakfast, Kaidan suggested they cut south across the volcanic plains, then headed west along the road between the Jerrals and Lake Honrich after Riften. Lydia was much less familiar with this part of Skyrim than the southwestern holds, but agreed the suggestion made sense, not least because it would keep them well away from the abandoned prison and any Thalmor who might be headed into it.

Her cousin was doing well, she said, and sent his thanks. Nerussa waved the comment away, a little embarrassed. "He's more than welcome, I'm just relieved we were there at the right time to see him."

Lydia nodded and she and Kaidan headed downstairs to put on their armour. 

"Well, Kaidan seems... Intense," Lucien said. 

"You could certainly say that. Try not to insult him again, please?"

" _Me,_ insult _him_?"

Nerussa raised her eyebrows. "You called him a barbarian, and presumed he couldn't read."

"Yes, but he... Oh, fine. I suppose you're right. I'll do my best."

"Thank you. I think the four of us could work well together, and I'd like _both_ of you to try and get on. You thought Lydia was 'weird' at first, but she's... well, certainly no weirder than either of us."

Lucien began to object, then chuckled. "Fair point. Well, I'll do my best, so long as he doesn't call my work 'fairy stories' again!" 

"I appreciate it, Lucien."

***

As they drew closer to Darkwater Crossing, Kaidan pointed to a small group of standing stones in the distance. 

"The stone in the middle is the Atronach stone, it's said to offer anyone who approaches a blessing, similar to that held by those born under the sign. Unfortunately, it's guarded by..." his eyes searched the area, and he pointed just past the stones. " _That_ thing." Gods, it was a Storm Atronach, larger than any she'd seen in the Training Centre or the College. "The local kids call it Thunder, it's docile enough, so long as you don't get too close."

"Well, my Senna – grandmother – was born under the Atronach. I don't think that blessing is for me. It might actually be useful for you or Lydia, though, if we could get close enough..."

Lydia looked unimpressed. "I took a blessing from the stone in the middle of Lake Ilinalta years ago. It does well enough for me!"

Kaidan nodded. "I were born under the Lord, I don't think he and the Atronach would really get on!"

Lucien began to speak, just as a dark shadow passed over them. The entire group froze for a heartbeat, before looking up to the sky, three of them knowing all too well what they would see. 

It was smaller than the Dragon at the Western Watchtower, though not by much. It was lazily circling in the sky, a short way to the east of them.

"By the Divines, that's..."

"Yes."

"I'd heard the rumours of course, when I went to Riverwood for supplies. But... Gods. What's the plan, then?"

Nerussa wasn't keen to take the beast on, but the decision was taken out of her hands as it circled back towards them, its eyes on her alone. She charged her spells, and heard Lucien follow suit.

"Looks like we fight!" 

Kaidan drew his war bow, another unusual-looking weapon. She would have to ask to have a closer look later. Needed to focus now on the Dragon approaching. 

***

They fought the dragon for what felt like hours, although judging by the position of the sun when it was finally dead, it was over in less than one. They were all tiring, Lucien having fallen back on his bow, Nerussa getting through two or three potions to enable her to keep casting, when the beast made the mistake of flying too close to the Atronach, which retalliated swiftly and finished the Dragon off. 

Kaidan's mind was still reeling, if he was honest with himself. He was surprised at how calm the others were, well, Lucien wasn't exactly calm, but he certainly didn't seem as shocked as Kaidan was. 

Nerussa said something about getting closer to the great dead thing. He thought she was joking at first. Without thinking, he put a hand out to stop her when she began to move forward, but she slipped out of his grasp easily. 

She made it to the body, and he didn't even have words for what his mind did when the thing started to glow, looking almost as though it was set alight by her presence. Then, it bloody well burst into flames, yet she didn't seem to feel any heat from it, or if she did, she didn't flinch. The flames swirled around her, becoming tendrils of pale golden light, which played with her hair like a soft breeze, and gradually settled around her, seeming to vanish into her very skin.

"By the Nine..."

Lydia began to say something to him, but stopped short as Nerussa froze briefly, then turned to run, full pelt, toward them, the enraged Atronach close on her heels, magicka crackling around it. 

Kaidan instinctively reached for his sword, but when Nerussa screamed at the three of them to "RUN", he knew there was nothing that would have made any of them refuse.


	24. Chapter 24

When they could no longer keep running, they were beyond relieved to see no sign of the creature behind them. Laughing, they realised it might well have stopped as soon as they left whatever it considered its territory. Nerussa was particularly relieved, though – that thing had finished off a Dragon, and as weak to magic as she was... It didn't bear thinking about.

On the other hand, by the looks of it, they had run more or less due north, and were easily half of the way back to Kynesgrove. Looking around, they found what Lucien described as "an intriguing path," leading up a small rocky hill. At the top, they found a Word Wall, along with a number of scattered bones, animal and human. The Dragon's lair, then.

_**FO** _

This time felt more like the first Wall. Not as exhausting, but more intense. She felt something else, almost as though the... energy she had absorbed was reaching out to the Wall? She staggered a little, and was overcome with an intolerable urge.

She rushed past the others to the edge of the precipice, the urge building into something like a need to vomit. Gods, she hoped the bloody Greybeards could help it not be like this. 

She half expected even now that she would just end up yelling some nonsense syllable, but as the Shout tore from her throat, ice spilled from her mouth, a cloud of icy wind spreading ahead of her. It was disturbingly like the Dragon's own breath. Lucien had told her... something about this. The Dragons were Shouting, too, it was some kind of combative debate, supposedly.  
She was shaking. She was shaking, and she was on the verge of crying, and she needed to sit down. So, she did, right where she was. The others hung back, she couldn't bear to look back but she supposed they were likely whispering about her.

Only her hands were shaking, now. That was good. The tears had begun to fall. That was less good.

Kaidan was the one to step forward, crouching beside her like he had in Forsaken Cave.

"So," he said, conversationally, looking straight ahead. "I couldn't help but notice a few things..."

She rubbed her face with her sleeve, annoyed at the tears which kept falling.

"I'm sorry, we should probably have said something..."

"Aye, maybe, though I think I've caught on... I take it that's why the trip to Ivarstead, heading up the Seven Thousand Steps, are we?"

She nodded. "I think we may have to try out that camping gear, I don't think we'll make it to Ivarstead tonight after this, and I don't really feel like going into Riften."

"Aye. Well, that's probably not a bad idea, anyway, make sure the tents set up right, though if we're in the forest, I can sort any problems with the frame easy enough. Should be able to hunt some game for supper, too. There's a pretty clearing near Shor's Stone where we could bed down for the night, if you like?"

His voice was soft. She nodded again. The tears had stopped, that was good. 

"That sounds lovely, Kaidan. Thank you. I'm sorry for... for not being stronger."

"Do you think anyone else would be doing better? I'm a pretty tough bastard, but if I had ice come out of my mouth, I'm pretty sure I'd be shitting meself." She laughed, a little shocked by his frank language. "You'll get used to it, Dragonborn. You're stronger than you think. Come on, let's get you stood up, and make our way south again." 

He stood, extending a hand. Goodness, but humans touched a lot. Perhaps other Mer did, too, outside Alinor. It seemed like something Bosmer might be rather more relaxed about. Either way, even without any taboo, she was not up to touching another person right now. She smiled thankfully up at him, but shook her head, getting up as carefully as she could, now she had realised how very close to the edge she had come.

***

Autumnshade Clearing was, indeed, very pretty. It was also, apparently, home to a Spriggan, a type of tree spirit she had encountered once or twice on her trip to Cyrodiil. They might have moved on, the Rift seemingly had plenty of pretty spaces to spend the night, but the creature was evidently even more territorial than Thunder, casting a strange green glow on several nearby animals, all of which advanced angrily toward the party.

The fight was over quickly, although the Spriggan at first seemed to be healing herself more quickly than even Kaidan could take her down, but when Nerussa turned her Flames on the spirit, she fell quickly. 

One of the animals they had fought had been a deer, which had almost done Lucien some serious damage with a headbutt, had he not managed to dodge out of the way at the last moment, but Kaidan insisted on hunting one that had not been "tainted" by the Spriggan's magics. None of them felt too inclined to argue.

After a dinner of venison steaks and potatoes, baked in a closed pot while Kaidan took off his armour and prepared the meat, Lucien cleared his throat. Nerussa and Lydia looked at each other, a little nervously.

"So, Kaidan. If we're speaking to one another again, why don't you tell me about your... warrior upbringing?"

Kaidan looked warily at the younger man. "Are you actually asking, or just looking for another way to insult my intelligence?" Nerussa winced.

"Oh, look, I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot, before. Please, I'd like to know?"

Kaidan's face relaxed, a little. "Well... It was a nomadic life. Saw more of Tamriel in ten years than most do in their lives, I think, and we slept like this, under the stars, most nights." He looked up at the sky, before continuing. "Had a weapon put in my hand from the moment I could walk, really. I didn't have the luxury of learning anything that wasn't key to survival. Still, wouldn't trade it for anything. Satisfied?"

Lucien looked thoughtful. "Sounds like an entirely different world. I'm not sure I envy you – _I've_ always appreciated the comforts of home!"

Kaidan stood up and began to clear their plates. "Aye, it shows..." Before Lucien could say anything, he had lifted the cooking pot and walked off to the lake to clean them.

Lucien floundered for a few moments more, then turned to Nerussa. "Kaidan is _impossible!_ I don't know how to talk to him."

"Oh, that wasn't so bad. When we met you called yourself a milk-drinker, remember... Neither of us is exactly used to this kind of thing, are we?" She pointed with the bottle of mead she was drinking from at the tents and the campfire Lydia was building. "Did you know you needed a different type of fire to keep warm at night than for cooking? I certainly didn't!"

"Well, that's true... And he does make a mean mug of canis root tea." He ran a hand through his hair, and stared into the wooden mug in his other hand. "I'll sleep well after this, I think!"

"Just as well you're having the last watch, eh?" She smiled at him and stood to ask Lydia if she could be of any help. 

"I'm nearly done, my Thane, but you could look for some dry moss or leaves for tinder? Try over that way, toward the lake."

***

Some time later, Kaidan found an irritable Nerussa scouring the bushes, muttering about soggy leaves. She looked up when she heard him chuckling, leaning lightly against a tree, arms folded.

"I'm glad you find this amusing," she said, crossly. "I'm cold, and I'm tired, and I've been looking for 'dry moss or leaves for tinder' for ages, for Lydia, and they're all bloody _damp_."

"You really are a city girl, aren't you? Oh, I'm just messing, don't look at me like that. I'm sure you're better at dealing with Jarls and such than I would be. We've all got our strengths. She doesn't mean they have to be... not wet, she means dead leaves, ones that have dried out on the inside. We can dry them out quick enough if they've just got water on 'em." He reached up into the tree easily – he was easily the tallest human she had ever met, taller than most Mer for that matter – and pulled down a branch. "Have you got something to catch these in?"

She held up a tunic she had planned to use. "Will this do, or have I got that wrong, too?"

He chuckled again. "That'll be fine, just make sure to hold it so it's a little slack, that way they won't just bounce off onto the ground. That's it!" 

Deftly, he stripped the leaves from the branch, carefully releasing it when he was finished. "Right, sun's nearly set, we should probably get these to Lydia, or Lucien will be frozen solid before the fire's built!" His eyes were amused, but not in an unkind way, she thought. She also couldn't help noticing now how close they were standing to each other. Quickly, she bundled up the leaves, and started off back to their camp, Kaidan following at a bit of a distance.

Sure enough, Kaidan and Lydia showed the others how to take small handfuls of leaves, which already seemed drier for having been wrapped in the tunic, and rub them together to create little piles of mostly dry pieces of leaf. Lydia transferred the tinder to the logs she had set up in the hollow of half a rotted tree stump.

"The stump's damp enough that it won't burn, and it'll act kind of like the back of a fire place, it keeps half the heat from going over that way, where it'll be no use to us," Kaidan explained. "I'll be taking first watch, Nerussa, when I wake you for yours, I'll show you how to keep the fire burning."

The fire was making her face feel warm, possibly helped by the last of the mead. She stretched and stood up. "I should get some sleep, then."


	25. Chapter 25

"Nerussa, ready for your watch? I could let you sleep a little longer..."  
She started awake, more from the cold air flowing into the tent where Kaidan had lifted the flap to speak. She mumbled something about being ready, and he let the flap down again. Reluctantly, she climbed out of her bedroll and into her tunic and breeches, grabbing her fur cloak as she slipped out of the tent.

Kaidan was sitting by the fire, staring into the dying flames. She stood uncertainly for a moment. His hair was loose from his customary half-bun, hiding most of his face from this angle, but he looked up and smiled, the firelight making his red eyes almost glow.

She sat nearby, legs tucked under herself. 

"So, you were going to show me how to keep the fire from going out? I don't want to keep you awake."

He picked up a sturdy branch, scorched at one end, and handed the other end to her. "Mostly, you just need to give it a prod now and then, to be honest. Lydia's set it up well, I don't think it'll need more fuel until her watch, but there's some over there if so. I'm not that tired, though, if you'd like some company while you finish waking up?"

She smiled, ruefully. "That might not be such a bad idea. Do you mind if I ask you something?"

He leaned back, resting his weight on his hands, hair spilling back over his shoulders, and looked over at her.

"All right, what's got you curious?"

"You mentioned trying to get to Pale Pass. I won't pry on that, but your accent... Are you from Skyrim originally?"

"I grew up moving around a lot, but more often than not in Skyrim, I suppose. I'd been away for a while, though. I suppose the way I talk is a result of all that."

She tried not to stare at the tattoo by his right eye. It didn't seem like something to just ask about out of the blue. "So, what brought you back to Skyrim?"

He shifted position again, one knee raised, his forearm resting on it, and stared into the fire again.

"I've spent a long time wandering. This is where my feet led me."

Nerussa glanced over to him. "There must be more to it, surely?"

"Aye, isn't there always? To own the truth, I've come back to Skyrim hoping to learn something of my heritage, my... bloodline. I mentioned not knowing my mother, I think?"

She nodded.

"The few clues I have found, pointed me here. But, it takes time... So I've been paying my way by collecting bounties."

"You have no family to ask?"

"Not any more. Perhaps I do have blood kin out there, but I've never known them."

She looked more closely at him. His skin was golden, though not the yellow-gold of most of her people. He had high, wide cheekbones, and finer bone structure than she had realised.

She hesitated, not wanting to say the wrong thing. "You don't... look like a Nord?"

He smiled. "Well, aren't you observant? I was raised by a Nord, and as one. But no, that Atmoran ice doesn't flow in my veins. I can't be certain what does."

"You don't even know your own race?" Nerussa was astonished, she had never heard such a thing.

"No, I've no... Dragonskin ability, and I'm sure _you_ can tell I'm not one of your people, though a few Nords have wondered after a few too many. Usually, this convinces them, though..." He lifted a section of his hair, exposing his neck and an entirely human ear.

She grinned, tucking her own hair behind her left ear. "Yes, that's certainly a bit of a give away."

He returned her grin, letting the hair fall back. "I don't know the race of my mother. All I have is a hunch, but I need proof. It's... a little hard to believe."

She remembered their conversation in the Mixwater Tavern. "And the sword is the only clue you have? Well, maybe the Greybeards will be able to help translate it..."

"That's a thought. Well, any help you can offer, I'll gladly accept." He looked thoughtfully at her. "While we're on the subject..."

"Yes?"

"Well, you're a High Elf, right? But you..."

"Look like this?" She looked down at her hands. "My mother's mother had an... An indiscretion, she called it. A Nord servant. Her husband was relieved not to have to 'produce progeny' – we're a very romantic people – so the man was paid off and sent back to Skyrim. It's a little strange, though. Mother looks every bit as Altmer as my grandmothers, and yet here I am, grey eyes, practically Bosmeri skin, and all."

His eyes searched her face, his expression thoughtful.

"Do you think you might have some other heritage that you don't know about?"

She shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. "It's possible." His eyes locked with hers briefly, before she flinched and looked away.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to make you uncomfortable, Nerussa..."

"It's not... You didn't. Eyes are just a bit difficult for me. There's so much in them."

"I'll try to remember that. I should probably get some rest. Wake Lydia when Masser is..." He considered the sky. "About up there," he pointed and she did her best to remember the position. He stood up and moved toward the tent. "Thank you again for offering to help," he said, softly, before lifting the flap and vanishing inside.

She considered getting a book from the tent, but decided that it might defeat the object of a watch to distract herself from keeping an eye on their surroundings. The time passed uneventfully, but she was surprised to find herself enjoying just sitting by the fire, looking up at the stars.


	26. Chapter 26

Lucien woke them all at sunrise, and produced a paper-wrapped bundle from his pack. "Not the healthiest breakfast," he said, cheerfully. He unwrapped the paper to reveal four sweet rolls, which he put onto their plates along with a handful of snowberries and jazbay grapes. "But sometimes it's good to have a little treat!"

"Thanks, Lucien. I'm not a big cake man, but these do look good." Kaidan narrowed his eyes at Lucien, who was clearly trying not to laugh. "You're imagining me as a _literal_ big cake man, aren't you?"

"Definitely not! I'm just going to, erm, go down to the lake to bathe before breakfast!" Lucien walked quickly away, but didn't quite get out of earshot before letting the laughter out.

Kaidan chuckled and shook his head. "That Lucien certainly is... unique. Still, nice of him to think of bringing breakfast for the lot of us." He broke off a piece of sweet roll and piled a few snowberries on it before taking a bite.

***

After looking again at the map, they headed west to investigate one of the marks Lucien had made after comparing it to the Dragonstone. They soon came to a low, circular stone structure between two ancient Nordic metal carvings – some kind of heads, by the looks of them. The structure was built into the ground, and as they got close, they saw there was a pit at the centre, deep enough that when Lydia climbed down to have a closer look, the stones were above her waist level. The earth at the bottom looked as though it had recently been disturbed, though as Lydia pointed out, it was the rough grey of ancient gravedust, not fresh, dark brown topsoil. 

"I think I saw another of these when we were at the Dragon lair yesterday, when I... after I tried the new Shout." It had been like this, too, but now she thought about it, they had seen at least one that was different. She asked Lucien for the map. Yes, there it was, at the crossroads about halfway along the road to Rorikstead. There was definitely one there, surrounded by what Lucien had called "trilithons" – three matched sets of three great stones, two standing, one set across the top of the others. It hadn't been half-empty, though, she and Lucien and Rumarin had actually sat on it to rest and have something to eat after a rather nasty fight with a pair of sabre-cats nearby. The dust had been tightly-packed, so much so that initially they had thought it was a stone slab.

"Well, that's... worrying," Lucien said. "It seems likely that... something was buried here, wouldn't you say? And that is no longer the case. It's not very scientific to speculate beyond this, but given the current situation, and the position of the one we saw yesterday, so close to the lair... Well, I could certainly formulate a hypothesis, so to speak, but I'm not desperately keen to test it. Although I suppose perhaps we should check the one near Whiterun..."

Lucien took a few minutes to sketch the structure and make a few notes, before they pressed on to Ivarstead.

***

_**29th Hearthfire** _

In the Ivarstead tavern, Vilmeer, I think it’s called. Finally warm again. That’s the trouble with monks, especially Nord monks, they’re quite happy to live in chilly stone halls with high ceilings near the top of a mountain. I have learned two new Words – RO and WULD. Apparently, it’s possible to combine up to three linked words into a single Shout – RO comes after FUS, and there’s a third Word, these are known together as Unrelenting Force in Tamrielic. FUS = Force, RO = Balance. Wonder if there’s any way of making new combinations? 

“WULD” is the first word of “Whirlwind Sprint”. For moving a short distance, very, very fast. Not entirely sure how useful this would be to a Dragon, with the flying and etcetera, but maybe Men managed to make up some words of their own? In any case, I was welcomed by the Greybeards, after a fashion. Only one of them (Arngeir) actually talks, the rest just pray a lot. 

Arngeir said he wasn’t aware of any Dragonborn Mer, but that it was entirely possible there had been some who just had not come into contact with either dead Dragons or Word Walls, particularly given that as far as he knows, the only Word Walls on Nirn are in Skyrim. He gave me a bit of an explanation of them – he confirmed what I already suspected: that they’re inscribed in the Dragon language. They’re generally memorials, or at least, commemorations of something. Each Shout consists of three Words, but the text is apparently not repeated, instead there are three different inscriptions, each including one word of the Shout. 

The Greybeards, not being Dragonborn themselves, instead learn Words through years of meditation. I learned the first word of Whirlwind Sprint directly from… I think his name is Wulfgar, or it might have been Einarth. He Spoke it and it was Written on the Floor… oops, getting a bit Carried Away with the Capitals. Might have had a Bit Of Wine With Kaidan And Lydia.

Back. Went to dance with the others. Oh gods, I hope there’s a carriage to Riften tomorrow, can’t cast for a taffy treat after a couple of drinks, don’t fancy running into bandits. Where was I? Yes! Einarth, or was it Borri? Anyway, he spoke the Word, and it was… not quite like the Walls, quieter, but as I looked at the Word I… knew it. 

There was some business with empowering me, or something, they didn’t really explain that, but it was a bit like when the Dragons died, only again, quieter. Monks. Even the Shouting ones are quiet. Anyway, I tried it out, and it worked, and they were all jolly impressed, and now I have to go on a Great Quest or something to find some bloody horn. 

I still don’t have much more of an idea about how or why I’m Dragonborn, I thought it was the Daedra who were supposed to play jokes with the lives of mortals… In any case, they said to go when I felt ready, to Ustengrav, somewhere in the horrid swampy region south of Solitude. They didn’t say, as such, but I think I have to do this one alone. It’ll probably be full of draugr again, so I suppose I should prepare for that, find some others to practice on, maybe visit Colette – she seemed keen to teach me spells for dealing with Undead. 

Not going to go rushing into ruins alone, though, got to work up to alone. Lydia needs a silver sword, she says she can smith one, so we’ll have to go over to Markarth to buy some silver. Kaidan’s sword seems to work all right on Draugr, though, he was able to cut through them in Forsaken Cave, whereas Lydia mostly just kept the Draugr’s attention off Lucien and me. Maybe it’s silver-edged, it looks like it might be.

Kaidan’s sword! Bugger. 

Back again. He was very nice about me forgetting. He’s very nice. So are Lydia and Lucien! But yes, I forgot to ask them about the sword, there was a lot going on. Still, we do know now that it’s definitely Dragon Writing, and Lucien told me about a book he had read before he came to Skyrim, so probably we can find a copy of that, I bet it’ll help. Kaidan knew about the book, too. Wish one of them had bloody said something before, I mean, obviously these words are Dragonish, yes? So a book might be useful. If they’d said something, I could have asked the Greybeards if they had a copy. 

Hopefully Urag at the ~~Aranc~~ ~~Aracn~~ College Library has a copy. So, I suppose we’ll be going there after Riften. Not really looking forward to having my face messed with. I like my face! But for now anyway it’s probably safer, and I’m tired of always having to keep my hood up.


	27. Chapter 27

“Finally decided to avail yourself of my services, I see?”

“Indeed, Galathil. I believe this is the correct amount.”

The hooded Bosmer held out a slender hand, judged the weight of the purse dropped into it, and nodded curtly. “One hates to bring money into art, but yes, this would appear to be adequate. Well, tell me what it is you desire. Delirious pulchritude, or grotesque loathsomeness. Nothing is beyond my skill.”

***

That evening, Nerussa returned to the Bee and Barb to rejoin her companions, hood up, eyes down.

“Well, it’s done. She recommends I stay out of the sun for a day or so.”

“I don’t wish to appear ghoulish, but can we see? I’ve heard rumours of Face Sculptors visiting some of my parents’ associates in the Imperial City, but it was always rather hush-hush, not something a curious boy could ask about…”

“You’ll see soon enough, the idea is so I can stop wearing the hood so much. But fine. Not down here, though, come upstairs.”

They left the bar area, where several patrons were quietly nursing mugs of ale, and headed to the larger of the two rooms they had rented for their stay. Nerussa took a breath, and lowered her hood, eyes closed.

She had asked to look “classically Altmeri.” Her skin was no longer its freckled light brown, having been altered through means Galathil had refused to fully explain to a medium yellow-gold that had become very fashionable when the Lady Lilithia of House Larethian had come of age. The Sculptor had used a combination of magical means and deft use of a gruesome selection of knives and other tools to raise and widen her cheekbones, reshape and lower her nose ever so slightly, round out her top lip, make her mouth a little less wide, and shorten her chin just so.

Her hair had been lightened through largely alchemical means, but Galathil had explained that she also cast a spell to ensure that it would grow in the same shade for the next few months, so she would not need to constantly worry about her own auburn colour showing at the roots.

The only thing that had barely been altered was her eyes – a slight tweak to the angle was all she had allowed, though Galathil had said it would be a moment’s work to change their colour to a more typical gold or green, but Nerussa had refused.

Finally, after swallowing a deep blue magicka potion – suddenly the price seemed almost cheap, given how much Nerussa knew potions of that strength were worth – the Sculptor had used clearly advanced healing magicks to ensure the skin was not only free of scars, but utterly flawless. She could see why the She-Elf had been so in demand in the salons of upper-class Tamriel, and wondered idly if she had ever visited Senna.

She opened her eyes. Lydia seemed to be working to hide a look of shock. Lucien was studying her face, one hand slightly raised as though part of him wanted to test if it was simply a Glamour. Kaidan leaned, arms folded, against the doorframe. His brow was low, his lips pressed tightly together.

“Do I look that bad?” She asked, trying to lighten the mood with a joke, however weak.

He took a moment before replying. “I understand the need for… this. I do. But… I’m not comfortable with magic, and _this_ kind of thing… It feels wrong. I’m not saying you shouldn’t have done it, but I think it’ll take me a few days to get used to the change.”

“I understand. Honestly, it’s going to be unsettling for me, too. But if you’d rather not stay…”

He shook his head firmly. “No. I haven’t come close to paying my debt to you. I’ll probably just be a bit grumpy for a while, don’t pay me any mind.”

Nerussa flashed a warning look at Lucien, but he was still staring, fascinated. Eventually he spoke. “Do you mind if I take some notes?”

***

**_1st Frostfall_ **

Da, Ma,

Please tell Aunt Nilif not to worry about Dagmir too much, he is faring well, thanks to my Thane. She is a strange one. You maybe already heard she’s a High Elf (she says “Altmer”), and she really is from the Summerset Isles, but when I told her it was my cousin with those Thalmor, she insisted on following them to get him free. Not that I don’t appreciate it, but it was a surprise!

One of the Elves was a bit broader than they usually are, and it only took a day or so to re-work her armour to fit me once we got to Riften (there wasn’t time in Windhelm, so we sent the pieces by courier.) The Riften smith’s name is Balimund, and he let me use his forge and showed me how to join the pieces together with some leather pieces, where it needed to be broader still! 

I do miss my steel a bit, but heavy armour does slow you down a lot, and I can move almost as fast as my Thane in this. Don’t worry, though, it’s stronger than you would think to look at it, and I can dodge better, so I am probably safer, really. At least I wear armour, my Thane mostly does not – she’s got a set of leathers she sometimes wears, but mostly she wears her enchanted robes. She moves like lightning in them, though, and she says she finds it easier to cast if she can move freely.

I’ll save the rest of my news for when I next see you, which will probably be quite soon, my Thane is heading to the College at Winterhold and says I can have a few days off while she does. 

Love you both,

Lydia


	28. Chapter 28

After allowing two days indoors, just to be on the safe side, they made their way north again on Fredas afternoon. Having decided one tent was big enough for all four of them, they had sold the other to Grelka, a stallholder who seemed to be in a perpetual bad mood, and did not seem exactly cheered up by finding herself with a bundle of furs and tent poles to try and sell on. Lydia took the carriage back to Whiterun, at Nerussa’s insistence, and the others went on foot, passing through Windhelm some time after sunset. 

They set up camp a short way past the city, and Lucien read aloud from _Children of the Sky_ , commenting drily on the inaccuracies of the text. As Lucien read, Kaidan prepared a stew with the last of the unsold venison from his hunt at Autumnshade Clearing. 

“I actually had a copy of that when I was a lad,” Kaidan said as he handed them bowls of stew and hunks of braided bread. “First book I ever owned for myself.”

Lucien looked at him thoughtfully, and thanked him for the food. After they finished eating, Nerussa took first watch, uneventful enough, aside from a wolf who every so often circled back to the camp, growling quietly, before slinking off again with its tail between its legs. She had decided to read something this time, another volume of A Dance In Fire, picked up in Mistveil Keep while she had been on another job for Delvin. Her journal had details of a few jobs in Windhelm, most of which could wait, but she had taken a few minutes to seek out Torsten Cruel-Sea, a farmer who Delvin had described as ‘an important contact’. Thankfully, his job was less urgent than the Whiterun man’s, and it sounded less… unpleasant, too, and she had promised to return to Windhelm once her business at the College was finished.

She woke Kaidan for his watch when the moon was in the position he’d told her to look out for. “Do you mind if I stay by the fire a little longer, I’m nearly finished with one of my favourite parts of the series…”

“Of course. You’re very well-read, aren’t you? I envy that.” His voice was low, and as he continued, he sounded a little wistful. “As a child, my education always focused on the art of war first. I think now I’d like to catch up. Expand my mind a little…”

She looked over at him, tempted to make a joke, but aware that it was something of a sensitive area for him. She decided to play safe. “I could lend you some books, if you’d like?”

He gave her a small smile. “I’d appreciate it. Certainly make quiet nights by the fire more interesting. Anyway, sorry, you finish your reading, and get some rest.” 

She returned his smile, and turned back to her book, but gave up and headed to the tent when she found she’d read the same sentence seven times and still couldn’t remember what it said.

***  
“So, you want me to stay in this tavern, while you and Lucien go up to the College, where you know full well there’s a Thalmor wandering about?” Kaidan looked at Nerussa as though she had gone quite mad.

“That was the point of this,” she indicated her face, “so I won’t be at risk of being recognised. I don’t _think_ he would have been in active contact with Cyrelian, but if he saw your sword…”

Kaidan started to speak, but Lucien was quicker. “What if we disguised him? Kaidan, would you be willing to leave your ‘gear’ here, if Nerussa and I could bring you some… suitably-sized robes to wear? Hide all that glorious hair under a hood, try not to make eye contact… Worked for Nerussa, after all!”

“I’m not leaving my gear here. Fine, I suppose I’ll put my feet up, then. Try and find something to entertain myself…” 

“Oh, that reminds me!” Nerussa reached into her pack, and pulled out a pale blue book with an illustration of two fish. “Here, I think you might enjoy this, it’s another book my Senna had, it gave me nightmares when I was young.”

“Funny, can’t really picture you as a scared little girl! Thanks for this, I’ll try not to get too frightened... _Breathing Water_ , eh?”

***

“Another new apprentice, I see, and is that an Alinor accent? How strange, I would have thought I’d have remembered a She-Elf as captivating as you.”

Nerussa counted in her head, forcing her face to remain relaxed, blandly smiling at Ancano. “I’m afraid I’ve never been allowed much time for socialising, my parents wanted me to focus on my studies. Tell me, what is your role here?”

The Mer puffed his chest out, and took a moment to straighten the sleeve of his silk robes. She was, admittedly, genuinely curious about what he was doing there, although she knew she wouldn’t get a straight answer – she hadn’t been privy to that information even before Helgen, he surely wouldn’t let it slip just to impress a pretty face.

"I am an advisor to the Arch-Mage. The Thalmor wish to promote relations with this... ‘College’. I am at the Arch-Mage's disposal if he requires advice."

“Oh, and I’m certain he must ask a Mer like you, frequently?” Behind Ancano, she could see Lucien pulling an incredulous face, for which she could hardly blame him. Her skin crawled, but while she had never exactly excelled in Altmeri society, she was at least familiar enough with the general patterns of conversation.

She saw a flash of irritation cross Ancano’s sculpted features. “Perhaps not as often as he should. In time, I believe he will be more… trusting. But let us speak of more pleasant matters, I’ve been shut up in this dreary place for months with no enjoyable female company, I would much rather hear more about you.”

Rather a kick in the teeth for Nirya, the She-Elf they’d seen him with in the stairwell, if she heard him say that. Nerussa demurred, and explained that she and her “assistant” needed to leave urgently for an urgent appointment in the Arcanaeum. They were gone before Ancano had a chance to respond.


	29. Chapter 29

“Well, that was… hard to watch! Are you all right?”

Lucien’s face was full of concern as they sat in Nerussa’s room, the door open so they would know if anyone was outside. “I’m fine, I’ve had far worse experiences with Mer. It was… different, I suppose. I’m used to them making it clear that they’re doing me a favour by paying me any attention…”

Lucien looked puzzled for a moment, then his mouth formed a wordless O, his brow furrowing angrily. “Well, I hope you know that’s ridiculous. You’re worth ten of him, at least!” There wasn’t a trace of flirtation or flattery in his tone, and she was once again glad that he had chosen to not to leave after their previous time in Winterhold.

“Thank you, Lucien. I appreciate that. You’re a good friend.”

He beamed at her, and reached into his pack for the spell tomes they had bought from Colette – two copies of Turn Undead. _“Study these, and when you can cast them, come see me for training. We’ll show those so-called colleagues of mine how valid Restoration magic can be!”_

***

The following morning, as they were preparing to seek out Colette, someone coughed shyly outside Nerussa’s open door. She looked up and saw a young Dunmer, her dark hair pulled back in a rather severe manner. “Good morning, Brelyna, do you need something?”

“Actually, yes!” The She-Elf stepped inside the room, shutting the door behind her. She paused a moment before speaking again. “We’re all trying to become better mages, right? Well… I need someone I can practice a few spells on. Nothing dangerous, really… Just expanding on some basic ideas in spellcraft. Would you be willing to assist me?”

“Of course. What do you need me to do?”

“Oh, good! I was afraid I was going to have to ask J’zargo… Now, if you could just stand there…” She took a few slow breaths, adopted a posture that looked like it would be difficult to maintain for more than a brief while, and charged a spell. When she cast it, Nerussa felt a strange sound in her ears, and the world became green.

“Oh, dear. That… wasn’t supposed to happen! Do you… feel… all right? Because you look. Um. Green. I am _so_ very sorry, Nerussa! I’ve been over my notes again and again and I was _sure_ it would have better results.”

Nerussa counted under her breath. She got as far as Ethi before replying. “Please, tell me this isn’t permanent?”

“It’s not!” The Dunmer looked nervous. “It shouldn’t be… You’ll be back to normal in no time. And when you are, we can try this again, and I’ll be sure to get it right!”

Lucien, about to pass Brelyna to enter the room, caught sight of Nerussa and turned back the way he had come. 

“Fine, I suppose I’ll… read my book until it wears off, then.” She had bought as many books as she thought she could carry from Urag in the Arcanaeum, partly in the hopes that it would be less noticeable that she had asked for a copy of _Dragon Language: Myth No More_ , which she picked up now. It was more an analysis and discursive essay on the Word Walls than a useable guide to the language per se. Interestingly, the author had also felt something at the Walls, which set Nerussa wondering if she had also been Dragonborn, or simply more sensitive for some other reason. Still, the author had provided both translations and transliterations for several of the Walls she had visited personally, and she was able to, in spite of the distracting green tint to her vision, fill out most of the gaps in her previous very tentative transliteration guide, and significantly expand the vocabulary list in the back of her journal. She compared it to the inscription she had copied from Kaidan’s sword. Interesting.

When she was done, she was relieved to find her vision had gone back to normal, and her skin seemed to have regained the shade she had paid for. Brelyna was waiting anxiously in her room, sitting very stiffly with her hands on her knees.

“It’s worn off.”

“Exactly as I said it would! Now, are you ready to try again? I am confident it will work this time.” 

“Yes, you can try once more, but then I really will need to find Colette for some Restoration training.”

“This will be worth it! Okay, now, don’t move at all.”

This time, as the spell hit, Nerussa felt her vision jolt about twenty pertans downward. She felt extremely peculiar, as though her eyes were in the wrong place, and then she realised she was… on all fours? No, that wasn’t quite it, she wasn’t crawling like an infant, she had four feet on the ground. She looked down. Hooves. She had four _hooves_ on the ground. She lowed, mournfully.

“Oh my, that isn’t right…” She looked at Brelyna’s midsection. “Just… wait! I can… fix this!” She cast again, and Nerussa was initially relieved to find her vision back to a reasonable sort of level – perhaps a little high – until she tried to lift her hand to check her face and realised, no, she still had four hooves on the ground. An exasperated whinny escaped her muzzle as she caught sight of Lucien, desperately trying to contain his laughter as he watched from his doorway. 

“That’s not it at all! Let me try again…” 

“Woof!”

“This really isn’t turning out the way I’d hoped… I’ll get it right this time, I swear!”

One more blast of the spell, and Nerussa was inordinately relieved to find herself – still sitting on the floor like a hound, admittedly – back to herself once more. She got to her feet, and looked over at a rather shaken Brelyna. “Let’s never speak of this again.”

“Agreed. It looks like I’m not ready for the type of advanced magic I’ve been attempting, but you’ve given me some very useful experience. Thank you, Nerussa.”

When they were outside in the courtyard, Lucien turned to Nerussa, an amused smirk on his face. “And to think, Kaidan was worried about the types of changes the Face Sculptor made to your appearance!”


	30. Chapter 30

In the evening, Nerussa made her way carefully across the bridge to show her notes to Kaidan. Pushing open the door of the tavern, she looked around, and saw him sitting by the fire, intently reading _Breathing Water_. It looked like he was near the end of the book, just as well she’d brought another. 

He looked up as she approached. “Wasn’t expecting to see you tonight, anything wrong?”

“Actually, quite the opposite. I managed to find that book on the Dragon language, and I think I know what your sword says.” She showed him the back page of her journal, ignoring his amused comment about her keeping a diary. “Look, ‘hi fen tovit kruziik qethsehokoronne.’ ‘Qeth’ is ‘bone’, ‘hokoron’ is enemy. I think the rest is to do with agreement, and plurality… Sorry, probably more detail than you want. I’m reasonably certain it says something along the lines of ‘search the ancient bones-of-enemies’, or possibly ‘search the bones of ancient enemies’. Does that mean anything to you?”

“You bloody genius! It’s cryptic, but it’s definitely pointing somewhere. Bones of enemies… Well, if my hunch is right, my mother’s people never wanted for enemies… I’ll have to think about this. Do you have to go straight back to the College, or can you stop for a drink?”

“I’m not sure I should try and cross that bridge after drinking. It was bad enough coming this way!”

He grinned at her. “I didn’t think you were that much of a light weight! I could always see you safely across, then scarper back here? Great Collapse was decades ago, you’d think they’d have fixed the damn bridge…”

She sighed. The fire was very pleasant, and she didn’t greatly relish the thought of heading immediately back out into the cold night. Kaidan pulled an “I’m not going to try and sway you further” sort of face, and put his bottle of mead to his lips, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he looked over at her. “Fine, I suppose I can stay for a while. Sadly, I didn’t anticipate this, though, so it looks as though it’s your round, my coin purse is back at the College, although I did bring you this.” She handed him a copy of _A Dance In Fire, Part One_ that had been in the pile she'd bought from Urag.

He grinned, and headed to the bar. She settled back into the chair, which was larger than typical, with a thick pelt draped over it. Far more comfortable than most tavern chairs in Skyrim, and she could imagine it was easy to find oneself dozing off in front of the fire while sitting in it, especially with her own fur cloak lain across her knees. Kaidan came back with two bottles of mead in one hand, and a plate of bread, cheese and sliced meat in the other. “Should help you handle your drink, eh? So, you're always the one asking the questions. Tell me something about yourself. Do you have family back home?”

She took a mouthful of mead, which had a simple drawing of a sprig of snowberries on the label. “Just my parents, and my Senna.”

“That was ‘grandmother’, right? Are you close to her? You seem to talk about her more than your parents.”

She smiled. “Yes, my parents were, well, typical Altmeri parents, I suppose. At least, typical for Alinor. I’ve heard that in the South, families tend to be rather different – it was discussed in hushed tones, scandalous, you know, but I rather suspect their children are happier than I was.”

He studied her face. “I’m sorry to hear that. You smile when you talk about your Senna, though?”

“That’s true. She’s… unconventional. I mean, most She-Elves of her age are rather eccentric, but she’s always been that way. Smokes a pipe, claims to only be in her second century in spite of having a son born in the late Third Era, dresses like an explorer… Funny thing is, though, to look at her, compared to her friends, you might believe her about the second century thing. Maybe even younger. Her hair has silvered, though it was paler than mine is now to begin with, so it’s hard to tell, and she has a few wrinkles, but that’s about it. She has visits from someone like Galathil, every so often, but I’ve never been able to tell what they’re meant to have done.”

“She must be very proud of you.” Kaidan smiled at her softly, before taking another swig of his mead. “So, what have you and Lucien been up to up at the College? Learning how to capture men’s souls and the like?”

His tone was jovial, but there was a slight edge to it. “You really don’t think much of magic, do you?”

“Can’t say I do. No offence to you or Lucien, o’ course. But, well, when you’ve seen some of the things I have. Hagravens, for one. And the things the Forsworn do for them.” He shuddered.

She took a sip, and looked him in the eye. “Are you expecting us to turn on you, then?”

He leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtfully at her. “No, I don’t reckon I am. But I can’t pretend it doesn’t make me a little nervous, when you’re both running around shooting fire out of your hands.”

She chuckled. “To be fair, that makes me nervous, too. Not least because whatever else might be in my family history, I’m Altmer enough to be _very_ weak to magic. To go back to your earlier question, though, I don’t think either of us is terribly keen on the whole soul trapping thing, or Conjuration more generally. My grandmother and her sister were around during the Oblivion Crisis, which left Senna with an awful lot of scary stories to tell about Daedra, so summoning them never seemed all that appealing to me, and, well, necromancy just makes me shudder, even without the letters…” She stopped herself, eyes widening for a moment, but thankfully he didn’t pick up on that part. “We’ve mostly been studying Restoration – specifically, how to harm Draugr and other Undead _without_ harming anyone who’s on our side.”

“Hm. Well, I suppose that sounds useful.” 

“Besides, magic has many positive uses – healing, protection. A sword can only be used as a weapon.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A sword, then, is honest in its purpose. No trickery, no illusion. Just cold steel at your throat.”

She mimicked his expression. “I’ll remember that next time you need healing after a fight, shall I?”

He grinned. “Well, I might not go that far, I suppose! Finished your drink, have you? Sure I can’t convince you to stay for another, or should we get you back across that bridge?”

With a little sound of regret, she stood up. “Definitely the latter, I think. I can probably manage the bridge by myself, though.”

He was already on his feet before she finished talking. “Nonsense, I swore to protect you, remember. Against any foe, even a poorly-maintained bridge.” He held his hands up defensively. “I’m sure you’re more than capable, but I don’t fancy having to deal with Lucien if you end the night at the bottom of those cliffs.”

***

As they passed the last of the damaged sections of the bridge, Nerussa spun around triumphantly. As she started to say something, though, she realised she had spun a little too hard. It made her head swim, although she really hadn’t had that much to drink, and her right foot slipped on the ice. She felt herself begin to fall, her mind already halfway to the rocks below, when a strong hand found her waist, pulling her firmly back to her feet. Kaidan steadied her against his own bulky form. 

“You’re all right, you’re safe. Perhaps you should’ve spent the night in the tavern…” She could feel his breath on the back of her neck, and the heat rising in her cheeks, embarrassment at her mistake mixing in the pit of her stomach with the residual fear. After a moment he took his hand away, leaving a strange coldness behind, stepping back a little. 

She nodded, and turned more carefully to face him. “Perhaps, but then Lucien would have worried when I wasn’t there in the morning. Anyway, thank you for catching me. Does this mean your debt is paid?”

He laughed. “Not even half of it, Dragonborn. Go on, get to your bed. I’ll see you in a couple more days, yeah?”


	31. Chapter 31

Lucien looked up from his book. Surely _that_ had been the door to the next room closing? He hopped up and slipped through his own door to knock on Nerussa’s, and sighed with relief when it opened. 

“Thank goodness you’re back! I was starting to worry! What did Kaidan make of the translation?”

Nerussa seemed oddly distracted, and he could smell mead on her breath, although not strongly. She shook herself, seeming to come back to her senses. “Sorry, I was just thinking about something. Yes, the translation! He seemed happy about it, I think. Seemed to have some ideas what it could refer to, which is more than I do at the moment.” She looked at her friend. “I’m sorry if I worried you, we just got talking, and I had a bottle of snowberry mead, so Kaidan escorted me back across the bridge.”

“Well, you got back safely, so that’s good. Is Kaidan all right waiting for us? It must be rather boring for him.”

“He seemed fine, yes – I’ve lent him a couple of books to read.” He looked at her more closely. She definitely seemed out of sorts, but she appeared to be trying to push past it, and he decided to let it drop for now.

“Very well – I’ll see you in the morning then, breakfast in the Hall of Acumen and another training session with Colette?”

She nodded and closed the door. He raised his eyebrows, and went back into his own room. 

***  
"I would just like to remind everyone, once again, that Restoration is indeed a valid school of magic. It is absolutely worthy of research, despite many of the notes I've had left in my bed. And my desk. And on occasion, my meals.” As they entered the Hall of the Elements, they heard Colette Marence’s rather grating voice in the main lecture hall. It sounded as though she had just begun a lecture, although it was sometimes hard to tell, and they hurried in to find seats. There was no shortage of spaces, which was hardly a surprise. The woman did herself no favours, she was actually a perfectly competent tutor when she had worked her need to complain out of her system and moved on to the methods and nuances of what Restoration actually involved. 

Thankfully, the lecture was a short one, and Lucien was on fine form, using his politest and most deferential tone to encourage her to allow them to book the rest of the morning for tuition. While Nerussa had been in the tavern the previous evening, Lucien had gone for a little wander and found himself talking to a Bosmer named Enthir. Nerussa had a pretty good idea of how Enthir got hold of his merchandise, but she had said nothing over breakfast when he had shown her his new spell tome – Sun Fire. He was already around two thirds of the way through learning the spell, and was looking forward to testing it soon. For now, though, they trained their Turn Undead spells with Colette, who took care to observe their form, and offer suggestions for improvement.

“Look, Nerussa, see how Lucien’s wrist turns just so? He’s clearly got a natural aptitude for Restoration magic, but you could certainly learn by observing him, just as I’m sure there are things you can teach him about your own favoured schools.” Lucien turned ever so slightly pink at the compliment, and charged his spell once more. 

***

The following evening, they crossed the bridge carefully, and found Kaidan finishing his book. “Hey, you two! Did you say you had volume two of this back in Riverwood, Nerussa? Wouldn’t mind finding out what happens next.”

“I do, though so far I haven’t found a copy of the third volume, so you may have to wait after that…” 

He grinned. “I’m a patient man. Well, in some matters. There's a bookshop up in Solitude, if we head up that way any time soon, shop run by an Imperial woman and her daughter. Nice family, bit of luck, they'll have the next one. Are we heading out, then? Dagar and Haran let me dry out the furs from the tent downstairs, so they should be ready to pack up.”

“We were thinking of taking the carriage to Solitude tonight, if you’re okay with that? I’ve got some business there, and, look, I found this weeks ago, but I think it might be rather interesting.” She pulled the note out of her journal, and showed it to the two men. “...to seek out and recover lost artefacts of historical relevance, see? For a museum in Solitude. It’s been a while, so we may be too late, but I think it’s worth investigating.”

***

They arrived at the gates of Solitude just as the sun was rising, Lucien and Nerussa grumbling about aching muscles from sleeping on a pile of furs on the bed of the carriage. “Oh, stop moaning, you two. Don’t know you’re bloody born.” 

“Yes, yes, we know, your guardian used to chop you in two with a breadknife every morning, Kaidan…”

“Aye, something like that, Lucien, something like that.” Kaidan chuckled amiably, and shifted the bundle containing his armour into a better position as he pushed open the gate with his other hand.

Solitude was largely as she remembered it from her previous brief visit. Stall holders were busily setting out their wares, servants on their way from their homes in the dock district to work in the grand houses of the city. The three of them paid for rooms in the Winking Skeever, a large, finely-furnished tavern near the city gate, and stashed their belongings in the chests provided. “This armour’s like a second skin to me,” Kaidan commented “but I’ll admit, it’s a welcome change to spend a little time in common clothes. I wouldn’t mind getting a spare set, perhaps something a bit warmer, though I think Radiant Raimant’s probably a little... fancy for my tastes.”

“Is that the place opposite here, run by the two Altmer sisters? They actually had quite a range of things when I went in there, I bought a set of clothes there for the journey to, well, you know. The ones my employers provided stuck out like a sore thumb, even I could see that. It couldn’t hurt to take a look, and I wouldn’t mind something a bit _more_ fancy, myself. If I’m going to have to go visiting palaces, I don’t necessarily always want to be in my college robes…”

Lucien’s mood seemed to brighten considerably at the idea, and he checked his coin purse before they left. “I must admit, I’ve been considering a new outfit, if we’re going to be ‘roughing it’ in the wilderness more often, I should probably have another change of clothes as there will be longer between times I can have my other sets laundered…”

***

“You know, I could offer you an exceptional price on your purchases, if you would do me a small favour?”

Nerussa eyed Taarie warily. “What do you need?”

The other She-Elf leaned in conspiratorially. “You seem like the sort of person who might have plans to visit the Palace, yes? I knew it! Well, we’ve been trying for some time to get the Jarl to view some of our dresses, but you know these Provincial sorts, rather set in their ways, so she sits in her throne in some itchy fur and wool nonsense, when she could so easily upgrade herself from Elisif the Fair to Elisif the Exquisite. If you were to wear one of our dresses to introduce yourself to her, however…”

“I see. What sort of thing were you thinking?” Taarie smiled broadly, and escorted Nerussa into a side chamber as the two men headed out into the city, sensing it would be some time before the two She-Elves came out again.

A little after midday, Nerussa left Radiant Raiment, wearing an admittedly very fetching gown of wine-coloured silk, with a low neckline, gold details, and a subtly exposed black lace shift underneath. Her hair had been carefully curled by Taarie, much to Endarie’s disdain, and piled high on her head. Nerussa had lost count of how many pins had been used, and she had _certainly_ never had her face so heavily painted before, although admittedly it was quite tastefully applied. She rather wished for her hood, but supposed that would defeat the object. She found Kaidan and Lucien nearby, having a surprisingly civil conversation, as far as she could tell. She waved at them to shush when they began to speak, she didn’t really want to hear anything about the whole get-up from either of them. 

***

The Blue Palace was certainly the most impressive building she had visited in Skyrim, with a grand staircase and a well-appointed throne room. She couldn’t really argue with Taarie’s assessment of the young woman in the throne, though – she was certainly very pretty, but the stodgy outfit she wore did not flatter her in the slightest. The three of them waited by the top of the stairs, as instructed, while the Jarl listened to a middle-aged man who had come to ask the Jarl to send troops to investigate strange happenings in a cave near Dragon Bridge, presumably the village where he lived. The Jarl initially offered to send “an entire legion” to deal with the matter, but her courtiers, without much discretion, convinced her otherwise, saying the matter could likely be handled by instead sending a few extra soldiers to guard the village itself. The man left, still looking rather worried, but obviously in no position to argue further with his king’s widow. 

The steward, a red-haired Nord, indicated that Nerussa should approach the throne next. She introduced herself as a visiting Thane of Whiterun, and a murmur went around the court. The steward stepped closer to the throne and spoke quietly to the Jarl. 

“Ah, the famous Dragonborn! How wonderful to meet you, and my, what a lovely gown, you must give me the name of your seamstress.”

“Thank you, my Jarl, it is an honour. My gown is actually from an establishment here in your city, Radiant Raiment, I’m sure they would be glad to make something exquisite for you.”

The Jarl looked over at her steward, a playful tone in her voice. “Falk, why haven’t you arranged for a viewing of dresses from this Radiant Raiment? If this is typical of their work, I shall want to order several dresses from them!” Nerussa was starting to get more used to judging human ages, but Elisif was hard to place. She looked to be around the same age as Lydia, but acted much younger. “Thank you for that little tip, Thane Nerussa. Please do step forward. Now, is there anything the Hold of Haafingar can do for you?”

“You’re more than welcome, and I am certain their dresses will please you immensely. As to your question, in fact, I think my companions and I may be able to do something for your Hold, I couldn’t help but overhear the petition before mine – perhaps we could look into that matter on your behalf?”

“Well, aren’t you a delight! I think you should speak with Falk, my steward, about that, if I approve without his say-so, he may chide me again!” She spoke in a merry tone, yet, now she was closer, Nerussa could see that the smile did not reach her eyes, which were ringed with the faintest trace of red. Nerussa hoped her face didn’t betray what she had noticed, and she kept her tone light as she bade the Jarl farewell and approached the steward. He rolled his eyes at the mention of the man from Dragon Bridge, but admitted a few travellers had gone missing in the area around the cave. “Look, if you and your friends want to clear the place out, I’ll make sure you’re rewarded for your trouble.”

He pointed out the rough location of the cave on Lucien’s map, and Nerussa couldn’t help noticing it was close to the Embassy building. She hoped that wasn’t significant for any reason other than that they would need to be cautious in the area. Kaidan’s sword was safely locked in the tavern’s chest, and while Nerussa’s hair was being pinned up, Lucien had apparently insisted on giving him the money to buy a second blade. Kaidan, in turn, had insisted he was only _borrowing_ the money, and the sword had been bought, a much bulkier greatsword than his own slim blade, heavy steel, with a silvered edge applied by the blacksmith for an extra fee. She thanked the steward, and the three made their way back to the tavern, where Nerussa was very glad to unpin her hair and wash her face. They had passed the museum building on their way to and from the Palace, and both Nerussa and Lucien were greatly looking forward to visiting it. But not until after some lunch.


	32. Chapter 32

The museum gate opened smoothly, and Nerussa and Lucien walked into a small courtyard, up two small sets of steps, and to the door. It swung open when they pushed it, but the interior was only dimly lit. A figure hurried toward them, barring them from entering the building itself. 

Now he was standing in the doorway, she could see the figure was a fellow Altmer, finely dressed, and a little flustered. “The museum is closed until further notice, didn’t you see the sign?” He glanced back into the darkness. “Oh, no. The sign is inside, isn’t it. Well, can I help you?”

“Are you Auryen Morellus, by any chance? I found this notice a while back, I was rather hoping we weren’t too late to answer it.”

He glanced at the piece of paper in her hand, and his demeanour shifted immediately. “Oh, I _see_! Well, fortunately for you, the mercenaries and treasure hunters I’ve hired thus far have proven to be more trouble than they’re worth. You see, we are in need of a vast array of relics to display here at the museum. Unconventional, I know, to have established such a venture with nothing on display, but I have my reasons. So, yes, perhaps I could give you both a chance, you look…” he eyed them cautiously “competent enough. Here, I’ve made some notes on three relics that I think you should be able to track down without too much trouble. Retrieve those and I’ll compensate you for your trouble, and we can discuss the possibility of more long-term employment. How does that sound?”

“Marvellous!” Lucien took the small bundle of pages from Auryen, and tucked them safely in a small satchel he had bought in Radiant Raiment for just this sort of purpose. They bid the curator farewell and made their way to the last stop on their list, the Bards’ College, where Kaidan was waiting for them. 

Inside, they were approached by another Altmer, who introduced himself as Viarmo, the Headmaster of the College, and asked whether they were looking to join. Kaidan put a hand on Lucien’s shoulder and gently shoved him forward.

“Lucien here is a talented songsmith, isn’t that right, Lucien?” 

“Oh! Well, I’d say it’s more of a hobby, but… I do enjoy singing, and song writing, and I _have_ been meaning to look into lute lessons, although it’s rather tricky to fit that into an adventurer’s lifestyle!” Viarmo smiled warmly at the young Imperial and guided him into a side room to discuss the application process. 

***

“So, we have three relics to find for Auryen, and this book Viarmo wants you to track down for the College. Lucien, do you mind if I borrow your notes so I can jot some details down in my journal? Perfect, thank you. And of course, the Jarl wants us to clear that cave, that shouldn’t be too big of a job, though. I suggest we do that first, tomorrow, come back to Solitude for the night, and then make a circuit of Auryen’s relics, those look most likely to be moved on if we leave it too long, and Viarmo’s book has been where it is for millennia, it can probably stay there a few more days…”

They were sitting in Nerussa’s room, a pile of books and papers on the table between them. Nerussa took Lucien’s notes and tucked them into her journal for later, as Lucien carefully marked his map with the approximate locations they were aiming for. “Don’t forget, we need to collect Lydia and Vigilance from Rorikstead. Probably between Silver Moons Camp and tracking down these Forsworn with the Akaviri carvings?” Lucien glanced up at Kaidan as he finished speaking, and the other man nodded. 

“Sounds good. If we’re planning to take the carriage all the way to Riften, one of us should go down and speak to Thaer tonight and make sure he’s willing to take us the whole way on Fredas.”

Nerussa stood up. “I can take care of that. I was thinking of taking a walk anyway. I’ll see you at breakfast, there’s no sense you waiting up for me.” The two men looked at one another, eyebrows raising slightly, but neither said anything, as they gathered their books and moved into the other room.

***

Walking back up the hill after speaking to the carriage driver, Nerussa tried not to worry about the look between her companions. They were both clever, in their different ways, she supposed it would be silly to assume they had no idea what she was doing when she went for her little evening strolls, or when she vanished for an hour or so every time they arrived in Riften. Come to think of it, there were probably worse conclusions they could come to. The Dark Brotherhood, for one. 

Still, she found herself irritatingly bothered by what they thought of her, and she hoped it wasn’t too bad. She had higher expenses than Kaidan, with spell tomes and training to pay for, and unlike Lucien, she didn’t have her family’s money tucked away somewhere safe. Come to think of it, Lucien’s original purse must surely be more or less gone by now? That was a slightly worrying thought. 

In any case, she still needed the money she made with the Guild, and if she was going to have to go into – she shuddered as she stepped inside the city walls – Draugr-filled crypts by herself in pursuit of this stupid Dragonborn business, her improved ability to sneak around would likely come in very handy. With Kaidan and Lydia around, she wasn’t exactly getting as much practice with that as she had been when it was just her and Lucien, so her evening strolls were valuable in that sense, as well. She began to weave slightly as she walked, lifting the empty mead bottle she had brought with her to her lips every so often.

She sighed, knowing that she was justifying things she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to justify. But there was also the simple fact that her guild members actually seemed to respect her skill. Delvin in particular had rather taken her under his wing, and given her some useful pointers on moving more quickly while still remaining hard to notice. She still felt a certain obligation to Brynjolf, as well – she wasn’t sure how she would have coped with that first night in Skyrim without his offer to think about. 

She made a bit of a show of staggering slightly toward the door of Radiant Raimant, steadying herself on the doorframe as a guard went past behind her. She waited until his footsteps faded behind her, and dropped to her knees, pulling out her lockpicks and shiv, working quickly on the lock. Slipping inside, she listened for any signs of wakeful residents, and crossed the floor to the counter as silently as she could. She rather thought Delvin would have been proud. 

She had spotted the ledger he had asked her to ‘correct’ as Taarie had spun her around in the brightest area of the shop, by the window behind the counter, checking her face and hair were just so. She made the adjustments Delvin had asked for, and considered taking a pretty necklace that was just sitting on the shelf next to it, but something told her to leave it alone. Looking closer, it appeared to have an enchantment of some kind, and she remembered Delvin telling her that some wealthier merchants would leave a tempting item somewhere easily picked up, with an enchantment that would alert them if a thief touched it. She crossed the room once more and let herself out of the door, checking for any passers by as she opened it, and made a beeline for the door of the Winking Skeever.


	33. Chapter 33

“‘Let’s clear out a cave,’ she said. ‘It’s probably just some bandits,’ she said,” Lucien muttered under his breath as Nerussa pushed open the door of what seemed to be the base of an old Imperial tower, perhaps having sunk over the centuries into Wolfskull Cave. She couldn’t really blame him, she was rather rattled herself. Initially, the cave had been littered with the same sort of rubbish bandits tended to leave lying around their hideouts – empty ale bottles, rotten food, an assortment of bones. Tasteful stuff. Soon enough, though, they had come across a Draugr, patrolling a narrow passage, beyond which was the larger chamber with the buried tower.

They had had a brief but painful confrontation with two mages in dark, filthy robes. Judging by the snippets of conversation they overheard on their way along the passage, they had been dabbling in necromancy, which went some way to explaining the bandit-like squalor. Typically, even rogue mages tended toward the fastidious, but necromancers, well, Nerussa supposed that much involvement with corpses probably had an erosive effect on any squeamish tendencies they might have started out with. Still, the advantage of fighting necromancers was that they tended to expend most of their magicka on raising their brutish minions, and their fall-back spells were usually more in the area of health absorption, which seemed to be less of a weakness for Nerussa than elemental magics. 

Through the doorway, they found a short flight of steps leading down to a small chamber with a hole in the roof, which allowed in both daylight and, it seemed, snow fall. The centre of the floor had crumbled over the centuries, and it appeared the only way to venture further into the cave was to drop down into the hole it left. Kaidan hopped nimbly down, checked there was indeed a passage leading out, and helped Nerussa and Lucien down after him. The tunnel twisted and turned deeper and deeper into the ground, before finally opening out into a vast cavern. On the far side, they could see an entire Imperial fort, which surely must have been built in the cavern, although Nerussa was at a loss as to why.

More disturbing, though, was the swirling purple light, emanating from a point at the top of the fort, and the sound of ritualistic chanting. As they drew closer, Nerussa began to make out snatches of what was being said.

“...hear our call… we summon you… the dreamless sleep of death, Potema…”

She looked at the others. “Did you hear that? Potema..?”

Lucien’s eyes were wide, and even Kaidan looked a little nervous. “She was the Wolf Queen, right? I’ve read a couple of volumes of that series. Nasty business.”

Further down into the earth they went, confronted now and then by lone necromancers, or small groups of Draugr. Nothing they couldn’t deal with quickly, Nerussa was pleased to realise. They reached the bottom of the cavern and approached the base of the fort. As they climbed the stairs, they could hear the chanting more clearly, one voice louder than the others – presumably the leader of their cult – repeating, “Long have you slept the dreamless sleep of death, Potema. No longer. Hear us Wolf Queen! We Summon You!” to which rest of the group responded in turn, _“We summon Potema!”_

Suddenly, a different voice cried out, shrill and somehow… wrong. “Yes! Return me to this realm!” It was followed by a spine-chilling scream, and the cultist’s voice rang out again.

“As our voices summon you the blood of the innocent binds you Wolf Queen!”

_“Summoned with words, bound by blood.”_

The shrill voice, angry now, cried out once more. “What! What are you doing? You fools! You cannot bind me to your wills!”

_“Summoned with words, bound by blood.”_

“You ants don’t have the power to bind _me_!”

They were at the top of the stairs, now, and could see the source of the light, hovering above a large, low stone slab covered in red markings that they later realised were actually grooves carved into the stone, filled with the lifeblood that had drained from the body of a young Imperial suspended above the whole thing, presumably the source of the scream. There was no time to take all that in, though, as the cultists caught sight of the three of them and charged their spells. By the time the fight was over, the orb of light had vanished, and they could only hope that the ritual had simply failed.

Nerussa gingerly picked up the bizarre helm worn by the apparent leader of the group, immediately dropping it in disgust. It had a similar feel to the Necromancer’s Amulet, and she shivered as Kaidan wrapped his cloak around the thing, stowing it in his pack. 

***

Back in Solitude, they made a beeline for the Dragonborn Gallery, hoping that Auryen would be interested in taking the helm off their hands. His notes had suggested that he had been working on suitable methods of displaying items of… disturbing nature, such as the Sixth House artefact he had asked them to locate. He was initially reluctant, but grudgingly admitted he was rather impressed that they were back so soon, with an artefact he hadn’t even suspected would be in Skyrim, yet. He pressed a purse of coins into Nerussa’s hand and took the bundle from Kaidan, vanishing back inside the darkness. As they turned to leave, the door opened again, and he handed Lucien a scroll. "The Bell Hammer will probably be rather unwieldy, cast that on it, and it will be sent straight to the museum. I must remember not to stand in that corner until it does..." 

“What do you suppose Auryen meant by ‘yet’?” Lucien mused when they were back in the tavern, having explained what they had seen to the Jarl’s steward. 

“I’m not certain, but one thing’s for sure. He pays well. I’ve been giving some serious thought to Balgruuf’s offer – that house Lydia pointed out. If we split this, and the payment from Falk three ways, my share should make a good start on that.”

“Planning to give up the adventuring life, are you?” Kaidan’s tone was playful, though his eyes were serious. 

“I don’t think I’ve got much choice in the matter, although I’ll admit it’s grown on me. Mostly, well, apparently I’m obliged to buy it at some point, but also I just think it would be useful to have a permanent place to keep my belongings – our belongings, of course, if either of you want to keep anything there, you’d be more than welcome. I’d better make sure there’s room for four people, I suppose!” Nerussa looked down at her hands, unsure how the offer would be taken.

Lucien and Kaidan looked at one another. “We talked about this last night… I don’t need much,” Kaidan offered.

“And my father actually sent me, well, a rather decent stipend which I collected this morning. You’d be more than welcome to put the majority of our share of these payments towards the house. If you’re planning to allow us to stay there, maybe it would be better if we just… Bought the place together?”

Her hands twitched happily, and she tried not to smile too broadly when she looked up at them both. “I think that could work out well, Lucien. Thank you both, if you’re sure?” 

Kaidan grinned at her, and raised his drink. “Aye, looks like you’re stuck with us, Dragonborn.”


	34. Chapter 34

“Can’t sleep either, eh?” Nerussa was lying on the ground, staring up at the stars, as Kaidan came into view, standing over her before dropping down to sit beside her. They had set up camp by the Khajiit caravan outside Riften’s city gate, and the guards had offered to take care of keeping watch, as they were doing so anyway. 

She pushed herself up onto her elbow. “Apparently not – it seems I’m already too used to taking watches to just go straight to sleep…” 

“Ha! We’ll make an outdoorswoman of you, yet!”

She lay back down, her hand behind her head, and pulled a face. “I think that might be going a little far. I’d still prefer a comfortable bed to a sweaty bedroll.” She caught herself, and blushed. Where she came from, talking so frankly about things like sweat was simply Not Done. Kaidan looked at her curiously for half a heartbeat, but before she had a chance to even try to guess what his expression indicated, he chuckled and shook his head. 

“You say that now, but we’ll see. Anyroad, mind if I join you, been a while since I watched the night sky like that..?” She nodded, and he lay down beside her. “Do they teach you about the constellations in Summerset?”

She considered the question. “Well, in the abstract, I suppose. The impact a given birth sign has on one’s abilities, that kind of thing. But I’m not sure I could point out a single one without a reference…” She glanced across at him, a little embarrassed to find him looking thoughtfully at her, his strange red eyes intent, as though searching for something. He looked back up at the sky, and began pointing out groups of stars, before asking what sign she had been born under.

“Twelfth of Second Seed, so, the Shadow.” 

She could hear the grin in his voice as he replied. “Aye, that figures, you just melt into the background, when you want to. Right, see that star just up there, and those four others,” he leaned over to point them out, so she could better see what he was indicating, “sort of like a flour scoop, I suppose. That’s the Shadow. You’re lucky, yours is easy to spot once you know what to recognise, mine’s got about twenty bloody stars in it.” He scanned the sky for a few moments, then pointed out a cluster of stars.

“There’s a book, the Firmament, that shows the constellations and how they’re represented as pictures. Mine, the Lord, well, it just looks like a jumble of stars, to be honest, but in the book they had an outline of a man in courtly robes with the stars overlaid. Yours is apparently supposed to put a person in mind of a robed figure with their hands raised.”

She considered that for a moment, staring at her constellation again. “I have to admit, I don’t see it, but I suppose it does sound better than The Flour Scoop.”

He laughed. “You may have a point there. So, what’s this hammer we’re looking for? Sixth House something?” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him turn onto his side to listen to her response.

“It’s something to do with what happened in Morrowind, near the end of the last Era, I believe. You know the traditional Dunmeri house system – rather than Holds like Skyrim, or Counties like Cyrodiil, Morrowind has its Great Houses, each of which controls a certain part of Morrowind. Well, it’s a little different now, but back then, there were five Great Houses. The Sixth House was a bit of a…” she searched for the word, but she was finally getting sleepy, and the right one danced just out of reach. “A mystery, maybe. Nobody spoke of them, all the records were burned.” She turned on her side, facing Kaidan.

“Have you heard of the Blight, Dagoth Ur, the Nerevarine, all that?” He nodded, and she carried on. “I don’t know an awful lot of details, but Senna was working in Vvardenfell at the time, it’s where she met my grandfather. The Sixth House was originally just another Great House, almost definitely House Dagoth but at some point it became the name of a sort of cult, I suppose, who venerated Voryn Dagoth – Dagoth Ur. Really creepy stuff, apparently, Senna never said much about them, but it was one of the few topics that ever seemed to make her uncomfortable. She never said anything about any ‘Bell Hammer’, but I suppose it must be some instrument of their… worship?” She tailed off, her eyes feeling heavy. 

Kaidan smiled softly at her. “You look ready to try again to get some sleep, maybe you should get into your bedroll before you doze off here…” She pulled a face, which made him chuckle again, and got reluctantly to her feet. Inside the tent, Lucien had clearly had no difficulty getting to sleep, judging by the book lying open at his side. Kaidan quietly found a scrap of paper to mark the page, as Nerussa climbed into her bedroll. She drifted off almost instantly, for once.


	35. Chapter 35

They rose early the following morning, thanked the caravan guards again, traded with Ahkari, and headed into Riften. The Jarl’s steward gave them information on local bandit haunts, and mentioned that there was a bounty on the head of the leader of one particular group, thought to be occupying a small cave to the east of the city, Broken Helm Hollow. 

There was no sign of the Bell Hammer at the camps, so in the early afternoon they followed the road toward the Morrowind border until they came to a cairn, as the steward had described. A winding path up the hillside brought them to the cave entrance, behind a waterfall, guarded by a scruffy man, clearly skooma-addled. He ran at Nerussa, fists swinging. She stepped out of his path, and he charged right over the edge of the cliff. Inside, they heard raised voices, though the slurring made it hard to make out words.

“So, boss, what’s the plan?” Lucien looked at Nerussa expectantly, and she sighed. She wasn’t entirely comfortable with being expected to lead the group, if she was honest. But she supposed now wasn’t the best time for that conversation.

“I’d be inclined to see if I could sneak inside, judging by the sounds of them, I doubt they’ve got the artefact terribly well hidden, or would notice me if I’m careful. On the other hand, I’ve never used a scroll like that, it could well be noisy, and I don’t fancy alerting them when I’m stuck on the other side of the cavern from you two...”

“Are you serious?” Kaidan cut in. “You want to bloody well wander off into a cave full of angry bandits by yourself? The steward wants their boss dead anyway, let’s just go in, take them by surprise, and be done with it.”

Lucien murmured agreement, and Nerussa nodded. “That’s fair. Okay, Kaidan, you should probably go first, then.”

Kaidan grinned, and drew his sword. Nerussa and Lucien followed him around a corner, and were just able to see past his armoured form to where three bandits stood, rooted to the ground in shock. Kaidan swung his blade, spinning gracefully into the motion, slicing through the bandits with ease. He had still fought well with the silver-edged greatsword in Wolfskull Cave, but his mother’s nodachi almost seemed like an extension of his body, suiting his fluid fighting style perfectly. In hardly any time, the three bandits lay dying on the floor, and a roar of fury came from a raised area to the side of them, where the leader of the bandits had apparently been sleeping off earlier indulgences. 

“ _What did you do to my men?!_ ” he demanded, reaching for a battleaxe and clambering to his feet. 

Lucien walked forward. “Sorry, are you confused? I mean, they’re lying motionless, there’s blood, and my companion here still has his blade drawn – do you need more clues?”

The bandit hefted his weapon angrily, and made a move toward the smaller man, who chuckled softly, an orange glow forming between his two hands, now held at chest height. “Ah, I _see_. You actually think you’re going to get out of this situation alive. Trouble is, well, aside from the _frightfully muscular_ gentleman with the sword, and of course,” he bowed slightly, “my good self, my other companion, well, she’s something _extra_ special. Nerussa, why don’t you demonstrate your Voice?” 

The bandit looked almost as taken aback as Nerussa felt, but she rallied, and side stepped, so she could be sure not to hit Lucien by mistake. Oghma’s tits, might as well make a start on using the damned thing. 

_**“FO!”**_ The ice spilled forth from her mouth, eddying slowly toward the man, who would have had plenty of time to simply move out of the way, had he not been still half-cut, and utterly mesmerised by the process. His eyes grew wide as the edge of the chill hit him, and the cloud enveloped his body. He tried to swing his axe, but his movements were clearly slower than he expected them to be, and as the ice on his skin began to thaw, he staggered forward, seemingly too tired to wield the axe any longer, the heavy weapon tumbling to the floor. 

He pulled a dagger from his belt and advanced to the edge of the platform where he stood, dropping down just as Lucien unleashed the spell he had spent the whole carriage ride from Solitude studying. Fire Surge. It was as though he had set a Fireball off at the spot where he stood, the explosion spreading around him, leaving him unharmed, falling short of where Nerussa and Kaidan each stood, but enveloping the bandit leader who collapsed to the floor, as still as his men.

As the flames receded, Kaidan stepped forward, resting a hand on Lucien’s shoulder, pretending not to notice the younger man shaking slightly. “Bloody hell, you’re a dark horse, eh? Very intimidating!” 

Lucien smiled weakly over his shoulder. “Oh, do you really think so? That’s awfully kind of you. Now, we’ve got an historic artefact to find! I couldn’t help noticing an intriguing chain over there, I suggest one of you pulls it, while I just go and have a little sit down, nice and far away from the bodies.”

***

Sure enough, a stone wall raised noisily when Nerussa pulled the chain. Kaidan raised an eyebrow, muttered something about "sneaking in by yourself..." and ushered Nerussa inside. She backed out again almost immediately, the stench of a rotting corpse hitting her, followed by a wave of nausea. Kaidan waved her over to where Lucien sat, and ducked under the stone arch.

"By the Nine..." They heard nothing else for a few minutes, after which Kaidan emerged carrying a hammer almost as long as he was tall. The handle was incongruously slender, with an oversized head covered in carved sigils, some overlaid with a deep red. 

"I searched the body. Not much to identify him, but the steward may know more. Sooner one of you uses that scroll on this thing, the sooner I can get back to that river down the hill and wash my bloody hands."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The scroll Nerussa mentions is a scroll I totally forgot to write into the original version of Chapter 33, I've edited that chapter now, but here's the missing part:
> 
> _As they turned to leave, the door opened again, and he handed Lucien a scroll. "The Bell Hammer will probably be rather unwieldy, cast that on it, and it will be sent straight to the museum. I must remember not to stand in that corner until it does..."_
> 
> (Basically I realised there's no logical way they could transport a MASSIVE HAMMER while going around doing other quests.)


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (If you read the previous chapter shortly after it was posted, there was a small addition at the end a while later. Nothing major, but you might want to read that before this!)

“A body? Oh, dear. I wonder if… One of the guards mentioned the fellow from Heartwood Mill was missing. His wife thinks he’s run off with another woman, but… Well, thank you for taking care of the bandits, you have done our people a great service. Here’s your payment. Perhaps you could visit Grosta at Heartwood? It’s a short walk along the southern shore of the lake.”

Nerussa took the coin purse from the steward and made a note of the name of the mill in her journal. Outside the Keep, Riften was its usual noisy, busy, self, and she was feeling a little overwhelmed by the pervading smell of the canal. She told the others she would meet them in the tavern later on, and made her way into the Temple of Mara. She couldn’t quite explain the impulse, but inside the building, she immediately felt a little better. The air felt cool and smelled faintly of herbal incense. She found a seat and closed her eyes. 

Nerussa’s family had never been devout, but they had visited the Temple of Auri-El regularly enough. As an elfling, she had found it hard to sit through the long, tedious services, but she had enjoyed the singing, and the time spent with her parents where they weren’t griping at each other. A small smile played on her lips, remembering how she used to sometimes slide off the hard marble bench and sit on the floor, leaning her back against the cool stone and listening to the Priest telling her favourite tale of Auri-El and his beautiful Consort, Mara. 

A hand rested lightly on her shoulder. Startled, she looked up, into a pair of dark, red eyes. 

“Good evening, child. I am sorry to interrupt you, but Lady Mara has guided me to ask for your assistance.” The Priestess introduced herself as Dinya Balu, and sat on the wooden bench next to Nerussa, gazing softly at the altar for a while before she spoke again. She wore a simple, brown robe, like the other Priests in the Temple, and as Nerussa glanced sideways at her, she saw the She-Elf’s belly curved outwards, the fabric taut across it. Not a celibate Order, then. She supposed that made sense.

“Riften is… troubled. No, that’s not strong enough. Riften is drowning in a sea of wickedness, and it’s my personal mission to let them know the warmth of Mara can see them through.” She looked closely at Nerussa before continuing. “All I need is a messenger, someone who will bring Her words to these poor souls by distributing these missives.” She raised her hand, which held a sheaf of papers with carefully handwritten words.

Nerussa found herself reaching for the bundle, and agreeing to distribute them. 

“Oh my, how wonderful! Lady Mara will be so pleased! Here you are. Now, make sure to give out every single one. We can’t afford to let even one lost soul stray from Her warmth. I’ll leave you to your thoughts, please do feel welcome here at the Temple.”

Nerussa closed her eyes for a while longer, before tucking the missives in her pouch and heading outside. The city seemed calmer now, the sun was beginning to set, and the stall holders were beginning to pack away their wares for the night. 

She approached Brand-Shei first. He was friendly as ever, but when she offered the missive to him, he met her eyes sadly, saying, “Mara can’t help me. No-one can…” He took the paper, though, and put it absently in his pocket. 

“Is there anything I could do for you, Brand-Shei? You were so kind when I arrived in Skyrim, I’d like to repay the favour…”

“Oh, don’t mind me, youngling. Just melancholy this evening. I’m sure you’ve noticed my name isn’t Dunmer? I was raised by a kind Argonian family in Black Marsh, and I’m very grateful to them, of course. But, well, my adoptive parents died a long time ago, and I recently had word that my sister’s youngest passed back to the Hist. It’s set me thinking about my origins again, I suppose.”

“Do you have any clues?”

“Not much. I know I was wrapped in a blanket bearing the emblem of House Telvanni, one of the Great Houses of Morrowind. Of course, that might not mean much. The only other thing I know is a matron who served House Telvanni escaped during the Ascension War. I found records that she had bought passage on a ship, the Pride of Tel Vos, bound for Skyrim. It’s why I came here originally, though that was a while ago. I’ve done all I could, but I never managed to find any trace of the ship’s arrival at any of the docks. I won’t ask you to go looking, youngling, but if you find anything in your travels, I’d be most grateful.”

She promised to bring him anything she found, and bid the Dunmer farewell. In the tavern, she managed to distribute the rest of the missives, while Lucien and Kaidan looked on, a little baffled. Some were taken more graciously than others. One woman, a haughty middle-aged Nord in fine clothes, sneered and said it would do for kindling. She joined the others for something to eat, then retired for the evening, feeling much better than she had earlier, but tired to her bones.

***

Dinya beamed when Nerussa returned in the morning to let her know the missives were all gone. “Oh, splendid! Just splendid! Mara smiles upon us this day. Please, take this potion as a small thank you.” She pressed a small vial into Nerussa’s hand. “There is… one other thing, if you would be interested in serving Lady Mara further?” Nerussa nodded.

“Lady Mara has seen something in you. She wishes to bestow a special blessing upon you, but first, you must act as Her hands in the world. Explore the facets of the infinite jewel… Are you prepared, Nerussa, to help bring the light across this land? Good. Good. The dawn surely opens upon you, child. Mara has reflected an image to me. At the foot of the Throat, the young woman… almost a girl… Her fickle love must resolve itself. The village of Ivarstead. The woman, Fastred. This is the prayer heard by the goddess, and relayed to Her servants. Return when she has seen her path.”

Outside the Temple, she met up with Lucien and Kaidan, and explained the revised plan for the day. To Heartwood Mill, and then on to Ivarstead. She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of all this Mara business, but perhaps it would help her to find some answers about being Dragonborn. The Nords seemed to believe it was something to do with Akatosh, who was their equivalent to Auri-El. So, perhaps doing His Consort’s work would help, somehow.


	37. Chapter 37

As they approached Heartwood Mill, a boy of around twelve ran up to them. “Need some wood, ma’am? Best lumber mill in the Rift!”

“Actually, we need to speak to your mother, is she around?”

He frowned up at Nerussa. “I hope you’re not here to start trouble. Ma says I’m the man of the family now, and I’ll fight you if I have to!”

Nerussa assured the boy that they had no such plans, and he eyed the group warily, before relenting and escorting them to the mill itself, where his mother was working, wincing as she hefted a tree trunk onto a conveyor to be sawn in two. She dusted her hands on her skirts and held a hand out to shake. She began to say something, then seemed to catch the look on Nerussa’s face, and sent the boy indoors.

“You’re not here for lumber, then?”

“I’m afraid not, no. I understand your husband has been missing for some weeks?”

“Leifnarr, yeah. Took off toward the border just after Tales and Tallows. Said he was going to trade some grain with some merchants up at Broken Helm Hollow. I figured he’d gone off with some strumpet from the city, but…” Her voice trailed off, her eyes fearful.

“I’m very sorry. We took a bounty on the leader of some bandits camped at Broken Helm, and found a body in there, wearing a dark green tunic with embroidered cuffs and grey breeches.” The woman let out a sob, then clapped her hand to her mouth, eyes darting toward the family house. 

“That fool. His damned lucky tunic, he called that – I embroidered the cuffs for him for our wedding day. And here’s me, been cursing his name for running off with someone else… I’m sorry, stranger. I can’t thank you for this news, but you’ve done my family a kindness nonetheless. I can’t offer you much reward, either, with Leifnarr gone, things have been tight around here.”

Kaidan cleared his throat. “There’s no need for a reward. While we’re here, could I offer you some help with running the rest of these logs through the mill? Seems like you need a break, maybe to go and have a word with your boy.” The woman accepted the offer, dried her eyes, and crossed the yard to the house. Kaidan set his cuirass and pauldrons down at the bottom of the ramp, and began work, waving the others away when they asked if they could help. “You two go and have a bite to eat on the bank of the lake, this is a one-person job!”

“I think Kaidan’s starting to warm to me!” Lucien said cheerfully, as they sat on a large rock, facing west toward the mill. 

She grinned at him, glancing over at where Kaidan was effortlessly lifting a trunk onto the conveyor. “Well, you’re a very likeable fellow, Lucien. The two of you just got off on the wrong foot, it’s easily done.”

Lucien took a bite of bread and cheese, chewing thoughtfully. “He took to you straight away, though. And, no offence, Nerussa, but you can be a bit abrasive sometimes.”

She laughed at that. “Comes with the pointy ears, I think. With the exception of Bosmer, I suppose, though they aren’t all quite as jolly as Gwilym over in Ivarstead. Anyway, I imagine he was mostly just glad not to be shackled and at Cyrelian’s mercy any more, that probably put me in quite a good light.”

“Mm, I suppose that could be it. Well, anyway, he’s quite likeable himself, once he relaxes a bit. We’ve actually had some interesting talks while you’ve been off on your little evening promenades. Has he told you about his guardian?”

“A little. I haven’t wanted to press him on it, too much. Do you think I should ask him more? I never know what’s too intrusive.”

“I think sometimes you worry too much. I’m sure he’d be happy to tell you anything he’s told me, probably more.” Lucien looked as though he was going to say something else, then reached for another piece of cheese. “Oh, by the way, I was wondering if I could ask you something?”

She looked at him curiously. “Of course you can, Lucien!”

“Well, somewhere here in Skyrim, there’s a Dwemer ruin, Dumzbthar. I came across a text referring to it in my last months at the Arcane University. I’m not yet sure exactly where it is, but it sounds _fascinating_. My father is looking into some possible sources of information, so I suppose I was wondering whether, if he comes across any leads, we could perhaps go and look for the place?”

“Oh, absolutely. Dumzbthar… That would translate to… ‘bound ghosts?’ Or something like that?”

“Yes! Well, Dwemeris is a fiddly language, often the same words have multiple meanings, as I’m sure you know, but yes, that was exactly the conclusion I came to! Naturally, it piqued my curiosity – the use of soul gems in Dwemer Automata is well-documented, but nobody knows much about their purpose or function. I thought perhaps this ‘place of bound ghosts’ could shed some light on the matter so I did some more research, though as I say, I just can’t pin down the location.”

“I’d quite like to wait until we’re a little stronger, maybe explore some other Dwemer ruins first, but yes, let me know if your father finds anything out, that sounds fascinating!”

Lucien beamed at her, and they passed the rest of the time Kaidan spent working the mill discussing what they might find within the chambers of Dumzbthar.


	38. Chapter 38

**_12th Frostfall_ **

Back in Ivarstead. I can just imagine Senna’s face if I told her I was on a quest for Mara. We arrived just as the sun was beginning to set, and spoke briefly with this Fastred. She seems sweet enough, I suppose. A little vapid, actually. She was gushing about wanting to marry some man called Bassianus and leave to live in Riften, but her father had objections. I spoke to both her parents, the mother seems just as impressed with Bassianus as Fastred is. 

The father thinks she’s just infatuated – apparently she had her sights set on Klimmek, who delivers provisions to the Greybeards, until recently when Bassianus turned her head. Her father thinks Klimmek is a better match, though that may be more because the man has more ties to Ivarstead. 

I suppose I’ll try speaking to the men in the morning, although I’m fairly sure Bassianus is the obnoxious Imperial who looked down his nose at us the last time we were staying in this tavern, so just based on interactions I’ve had with the pair of them, I’m inclined to steer her toward Klimmek. I don’t know if I’m supposed to pray for guidance, or trust my own judgement. As if I know anything about romance!

Lucien prompted me to ask Kaidan more about his past. It’s as though he’s from another world – his childhood was spent on the move, that much I knew, and I’d gathered that he had been taught to fight and survive from a young age, but… When he turned thirteen, his guardian – Brynjar – took him on a ‘hunting trip’, and left in the night. Apparently it took him two days to find his way back to the nearest settlement, but he seemed actually quite glad of the experience. He believes Brynjar was on the run, though he never found out from what. The man died before he felt Kaidan was ready to hear it, I suppose. He wouldn’t say much after that. I hope I haven’t offended him by pushing too hard. I felt a bit embarrassed, to be honest, so I came into my room to read. I can hear Kaidan talking to the bard, Lynly, so I suppose he’s fine. 

Once I’ve given Fastred my ‘guidance’, we’ll be taking a carriage up to Windhelm, to finish off that job for Delvin’s client. I need to speak to Niranye, hopefully I can find her away from her market stall. I suspect discretion will be needed for this conversation. I wonder if she visits the New Gnisis, I certainly haven’t seen her in Candlehearth, which isn’t surprising with that Elda woman running the place. Oh, well, I suppose I should get some sleep, I could be changing someone’s life in the morning...

***

“Is it absolutely necessary for you to bother me right now?” The Imperial’s snide look was almost enough to make Nerussa turn on her heel and leave the tavern where he had already started drinking, it seemed, by the time she was finished with her morning bath. She took a breath and forced herself to speak to the odious man.

“Actually, yes. Boti said to talk to you about Fastred.”

His tone changed at that. “Oh, my love! How I long to take her away from all of this. Why did Boti send you to me?” He sounded quite sincere, but Nerussa couldn’t help but feel the flighty girl needed someone more down to earth.

“I’m not actually sure. I hope things work out for you!” Nerussa hurried out of the tavern, and found her way to the river, where she had been told to look for Klimmek. Sure enough, he was carefully preparing his fishing line to recast, a basket of fish by his side. 

Hearing her approach, he turned, and smiled. “Oh, it’s you! Thanks again for your help with that delivery, are you going back up to the monastery, so soon? I don’t think they need more supplies just yet.”

“Actually, Klimmek, it’s about Fastred.”

His face fell, and his shoulders slumped. “Oh, Fastred. I’m not sure what happened. One moment she’s smiling at me, the next she barely looks my way. I bet Bassianus would know what’s going on. He understands women…”

“You know, I think Fastred probably likes men who are a little… assertive.”

“What did you call me?”

Nerussa fought very hard not to pinch the bridge of her nose in annoyance. “I think you should be bold, Klimmek.”

“Wait… you mean I should just… tell her? Tell her how I feel?” 

“What do you have to lose?”

“Ysmir’s beard, you’re right! No fish was ever caught by staying away from the shore. I’m off to see her!”

Nerussa followed him over to the farm where Fastred was leaning dreamily against a fence, and waited at a respectful distance. She watched as they spoke quietly to one another, and smiled a little as Fastred clasped her hands together before throwing her arms around a delighted Klimmek. He mouthed his thanks to Nerussa, who waved and made her way to the carriage, where Kaidan and Lucien were waiting. 

“Made the right decision, then?” Kaidan asked, and she nodded.

“I really think I did. She needs someone sincere, and hard-working, not some show-off who frankly put me in mind of too many of the Mer back home.” She climbed up onto the carriage, and held her hand out to help Lucien up. The two men exchanged a quick look, another that she couldn’t quite read, but she was in a good mood and decided not to worry about it, instead settling onto the bench and pulling out a book.


	39. Chapter 39

“Fjotli… Now, where have I heard that name? Oh, of course, the poor girl who was murdered! Such a beautiful young thing, a tragedy, to be certain.” Niranye shifted uncomfortably on her stool at the bar of the Cornerclub, but didn’t put down her mug of Shein. 

“Drop the act, I know you’re involved in her death.” 

The other She-Elf spluttered indignantly. “How dare you? You’re accusing me of involvement in such a heinous act? I should call the guards on you just for suggesting such a thing!”

“Now, Niranye, I don’t want any trouble, and I certainly don’t want no Nord guards called into my establishment.” The owner of the New Gnisis, Ambarys Rendar, stood nearby, looking warily at the two Altmer. 

Nerussa lowered her voice. “Niranye, you may be many things, but an actress isn’t one of them. “Look, you might be able to talk your customers into thinking your enchantments are stronger than they are, but an… Altmer, like me, _knows_ what to look for. You’re lying, and I’d rather not have to _apply pressure_ to find out what it is that you’re not telling me.” 

Fear and understanding flashed across Niranye’s face for a moment, before her usual blasé demeanour returned. “Let’s discuss this like reasonable people, yes? But not here.” She picked up her drink and stood, moving to a table in the corner of the dingy room. Nerussa followed, gesturing to her companions to stay by the bar.

She had been given the merchant’s name by Torsten Cruel-Sea, who had explained that his daughter had been killed a few weeks earlier. The man claimed to have “dealt with” the murderer, but wanted the Guild’s help to track down a locket which was missing from his daughter’s body when it was found. He had beaten Niranye’s name out of the killer, but thankfully had realised he lacked the subtlety to get any information out of the She-Elf and had contacted Delvin for advice. Lucien sat at the bar, trying to make small talk with a reluctant Ambarys, while Kaidan took up a position against the far wall, quietly watching Nerussa’s interaction. 

Nerussa sat facing Niranye, and leaned forward, one elbow on the table, her chin propped in her cupped hand. “I’m listening.”

“Look, I had no choice, they’re crazy, I could be killed!” Niranye blurted, thankfully still keeping her voice low enough that Ambarys apparently didn’t hear.

“Who are you talking about?”

“The Summerset Shadows. _You_ must have heard of them? Well, a Mer named Linwe apparently decided things were getting too difficult back in Ali…” a furtive glance around the room, “...in _Summerset_ , so he brought a few fellows here, and they’ve set up an operation nearby. He’s awful, likes to steal from the dead.” 

“You mean he kills, like a bandit? That doesn’t sound like the Shadows…”

Niranye made an exasperated face. “No! I mean what I say. He likes to _steal from the dead_ \- digs up bodies, creeps into Halls of the Dead, that sort of thing. Ghastly Mer, but my market stall, well, it’s not as lucrative as I was promised by the person I bought the spot from, and, you know how it is, I used to have certain dealings with the Shadows, back home… I wasn’t sure where his stock came from, until I recognised that locket. Girl used to wear low cut dresses, to really show off her… necklaces. I’d had my suspicions, he brought me one or two things that looked… familiar, when the Butcher was… Well, _you_ know. _You_ were the one who stopped him. But it was mostly fairly plain stuff. Nothing too personal. That locket, though, well, it was quite distinctive.”

Nerussa thought for a moment. “So, you were stuck with a piece of merchandise you couldn’t shift, basically? Where is it now?”

“If I tell you, you have to promise not to hurt me. I’ve got good contacts already, I can shift most things, I could be quite an asset…”

Nerussa nodded, and Niranye pulled a piece of paper from her apron pocket. A brief note from Linwe, mentioning plans to “secure the locket” in Uttering Hills Cave. “It’s uphill from the road, just before the bridge back across the river to Anga’s Mill. Look, I said Linwe doesn’t kill his marks, but like I said, they’re crazy – if they think you’re a threat, I don’t know what they’ll do.”

“I’d rather avoid violence if I can help it, but I’ve fought worse than a few scruffy grave-robbing Mer in a cave, I think I’ll survive.”

***

Ignoring Kaidan and Lucien’s protests, Nerussa had insisted that they stay in Windhelm while she went to Uttering Hills Cave. “This is going to be an infiltration rather than a bloodbath, I’m planning to sneak past as many of the Shadows as I can.” She had explained the general gist of the situation, leaving out any ties to her own Guild, of course. “Lucien, you can’t cast Invisibility yet, and Kaidan, you told me yourself that if I really need to remain undetected, I should ask you to wait somewhere. Well, that’s what I’m doing.”

“Ooh, you can cast Invisibility? I tell you what, we’ll stop complaining about you going off on your own, if you demonstrate!” Nerussa had sighed exaggeratedly, but charged the spell. She was, she had to admit, rather proud of being able to simply click her fingers and vanish from sight. It didn’t last all that long, but she had also figured out how to cast at least some spells rather more quietly, so hopefully she should be able to move from one hiding spot to another, and cast again when it had worn off. Lucien had, of course, insisted on taking notes, and asked her to hold out a hand so he could perform a quick physical examination without worrying about where he was prodding her.

Kaidan had shrugged in a resigned sort of way. “Fine, but if you get yourself killed, don’t come haunting me and saying I broke my word.” She had blinked back into view just as he finished talking, nodded very solemnly, then grinned at them both and walked out of the tavern into the morning sunshine.

And now she was approaching Linwe’s quarters, such as they were, in a dank, musty cavern. Rather a step down in the world from his old rooms in Alinor. Not that she had been in every room, of course, but she had accompanied Saltar to meetings with the thief once or twice. He had been exiled some years earlier for… ‘unsanctioned behaviour’ while on a contract for Saltar, in fact. She hadn’t been anywhere near important enough to officially know any further details, although Saltar had hinted at certain proclivities in the Mer, after a little too much Sylph gin. She had thought she had misinterpreted Saltar’s words at the time, but apparently not.

Sneaking past the other Shadows had been simple enough. No faces she recognised, probably a mix of the dregs of some of the other cities, and fellow exiles he had dragged up in Cyrodiil or High Rock. In any case, they had not noticed her footsteps, quiet enough with her soft-soled boots, though she really must get hold of a Muffle tome soon, and she had easily made her way to where Linwe stood. There was another Mer standing outside, whom she Commanded to go and have a nap in his own room. A little risky, but better than trying to deal with Linwe without alerting his bodyguard. She moved as quietly as she could to stand in front of the Mer, their eyes level.

“Hello, Linwe.” She dropped the spell as she spoke, and the look in his eyes was priceless. 

“Who are you? How did you get in here? _Faidur_ , get in here!” He walked backwards, right into a table that he had evidently forgotten was there. Nerussa charged her Fear spell, and lifted her right hand to eye level. The Mer’s eyes fixed on the red glowing orb of magicka in the palm of her hand, and grew wide.

“Faidur isn’t coming, but don’t worry, if you do exactly as I say, you might just leave this room alive. Now, where is Fjotli’s locket? Don’t play the idiot, Linwe. The locket you took from the corpse of a Nord girl of about seventeen, silver, engraved, with a lock of her mother’s hair inside.”

He looked relieved. His reaction to the mere sight of her charged spell had confirmed her suspicions. This was a Mer who had been subjected to those magics before. The details of the processing of exiles were the subject of much speculation among the lower ranks of the Thalmor, but everyone agreed that Illusion magics must be a significant aspect. Linwe stepped out from between her and the table, and hurried over to a lockbox by his bed. He sorted through the contents quickly, snatching up a silver chain with a pendant and dashing back to where Nerussa stood. 

“Take it, please, just… Just don’t.” He thrust the locket into her left hand, his eyes anxiously returning to the still-charged spell in the other. She lowered her hand, letting the orb dissipate harmlessly. 

“My other condition is that you and your associates leave Skyrim, and you do _not_ visit Niranye at any time. Do you understand?” He nodded. “Do you accept these terms? I do not want to have to inform Justiciar Saltar of this incident…”

He stammered acceptance, a film of sweat on his brow. She nodded once, firmly, and turned on her heel, lifting her hands. One palm shimmered with golden flame, the other held a shifting indigo cloud. She tossed the firebolt over her shoulder, setting light to the faded Summerset Shadows banner, and clicked the fingers of the other hand.


	40. Chapter 40

She woke for her watch without any prompting, and felt rather pleased with herself as she dragged on her boots and slipped out of the tent. Kaidan started as she sat next to him. “Bloody hell, you’re getting a little too good at moving quietly.”

She laughed, and pointed out that it was just as well, given her solo adventure the day before. He conceded the point. “Want some company, or shall I get to my bedroll?”

“Wouldn’t mind a bit of company, but if you want to sleep, don’t stay up on my account…” He made no move to get up, seeming quite relaxed by the fire, his hair loose, his feet bare. He glanced over at her.

“Something on your mind?”

She studied him, unsure whether to push or not. She nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and fiddled with the lacing on her boot as she spoke.

“I was wondering if you might tell me a bit more about your past. I know you asked me to drop it last time, but it felt a little as though you needed to let it out… And, well, I’m hardly in a position to judge, am I?”

He sighed, and met her gaze for a moment. “I suppose that’s the truth.” He paused, his eyes moving over Nerussa’s face, and when he spoke again, his voice was low, but determined. “It’s nothing to be proud of, but given they were my mistakes to make, perhaps I shouldn’t deny them. I didn’t handle things well after Brynjar’s death. Picked up some of his worse habits. The drink, the moon sugar. One day blurring into another…” He trailed off.

“What happened?” For some reason, she felt the impulse to reach out and put a reassuring hand on his forearm. He looked down at it, his hair falling in his face. 

“I fell in with what I thought was a band of outlaws, people like me. People who seemed to be… born on the path of destruction and death. I was all of about seventeen, I think, by then. They called themselves the Blooded Dawn. Followers of a Daedric Prince. I foolishly wanted to taste that power, and I learned the price.”

Her eyes moved to the tattoo on his face before she could stop herself, and he caught the movement. “Aye, it’s… Daedric script, I suppose, or derived from it.”

She had suspected as much, although she had been studiously avoiding looking too openly at the markings on his face, and his hair made it difficult to properly assess based on surreptitious glances. She realised her hand was still on his arm, and drew it back.

“But, you got away..?” He nodded, a grim look on his face.

“How I got free is a long and painful tale. One I shouldn’t burden you with. Now that I _am_ free, I try to keep my eyes and mind on more earthly matters. One of the reasons I came to Skyrim, to try and uncover my past. I’ve learned that if you feel you have no place in the world, you must make one. Perhaps you understand that, too?”

She nodded, and met his gaze for half a heartbeat. “I’m sorry for what you went through.”

“I’m not.” His gaze was soft, his voice still low and gentle. She considered him for a moment.

“Because it made you stronger?”

“No, Dragonborn. Because it set me on the path that met with yours. How could I be sorry for myself, when I’m so grateful for that.” She hoped the firelight would disguise the warmth in her cheeks. Her hands found the laces on her boots again, and she couldn’t meet his gaze.

“I’m glad to have met you, too,” was all she could manage. 

"It's been a long time since I've met somebody I could trust this much," he said, quietly. She felt his eyes on her face, and thought he might say something more, but instead, he got to his feet, a smile in his voice as he bid her good-night and disappeared into the tent.

Oghma’s _tits,_ and very possibly her arse as well.


	41. Chapter 41

Silent Moons Camp felt rather less imposing than it had the first time she and Lucien had been there, although the new occupants were a little tougher than their predecessors. Still, it didn’t take long to clear the place out, and they were soon back on the road. Lucien had spotted another of the strange worked-in enchanted weapons, and suggested bringing it to Auryen, along with the ring. Nerussa would have rather liked to keep the ring, it reminded her of one Senna kept in a small box of keepsakes that she had occasionally allowed her young granddaughter to explore. Still, they had made an agreement with Auryen, and if his payment was similar to the first one, it would be worth letting go of the ring, however much it reminded her of home.

They followed the road west through Rorikstead, arriving at Alfgoll Farm, Lydia’s family steading, in the early evening. They were met at the door by a rounder, older, greyer version of Lydia, who insisted on bustling them over to her kitchen table to sit down, although she did concede that Kaidan be allowed to take a few minutes in the back room to remove his plate and change into common clothes.

“So pleased to meet you, your Thaneship! Lydia is taking your dog for a run, she’ll be back soon, though, for her dinner. Can I get you and your friends something, we’re having beef stew and potatoes, or perhaps you’d like some mead? Are you staying here tonight, or will you be rushing off?”

“Oh, we wouldn’t want to impose, you don’t need to feed us!”

The Nord woman laughed, and went over to the cooking fire, where she began ladling out bowls of stew. “Nonsense, you wouldn’t be imposing, we’d be honoured to have a Thane of the Hold under our roof! And as for food, the harvest’s all put away, so my sons are all off at their winter work, it’s nice to have someone to fuss over a little. Here you are, young man, you look like you could do with a bit of feeding up.” She smiled at Lucien, who seemed a little affronted at the comment, but returned the smile and thanked her for the food.

They had just started to eat, when the door slammed open, and Vigilance bounded in, barking excitedly when he saw Nerussa, followed by a somewhat out of breath Lydia, who joined them at the table. Nerussa did her best to eat with the dog’s head firmly in her lap, and one hand mainly occupied by scratching his ears.

“He’s really taken to you, Nerussa – we only had him for a few days before we left Riverwood!” Lucien also won some favour with the wolfhound by passing him a piece of meat that he snuck out of his bowl, before Nerussa caught his eye, hoping to convey the message of ‘don’t put gravy-coated food on my lap, please…’ and got an apologetic look in return.

Soon after they finished the meal, the door swung open again, and a rather bedraggled Nord of around the same age as Lydia’s Ma came through. 

“Get caught in the rain, did ya, Da?” Lydia called, cheerfully.

“Nah, girl, thought I’d try my luck impersonating a duck in the river… Oh, we’ve got visitors?” He looked around the group, his eyes settling on Nerussa. “You must be the Thane! My Lydia’s been telling us all about you, and she’s very adamant we’re not to ask you to Shout for us.” Nerussa looked over at Lydia who suddenly seemed absolutely fascinated by the grain of the wood on her family’s dinner table. 

“Pleased to meet you. I… could probably Shout if you like, although outdoors might be best, and perhaps in the morning?”

“I’ll not pretend I wouldn’t be delighted to witness the Voice, lass, but only if you’re happy to do it.” He smiled, clapped her warmly on the shoulder, and went to the kitchen area for a bottle of ale, kissing the back of his wife’s hair as he passed.

***

Lydia’s parents insisted on putting the three of them up for the night, although Nerussa drew the line at their offer to give her their bed. Da finally relented and showed them into the room in the cellar where their sons slept during the planting and harvest seasons. It was simple, but comfortable and warm. “Not much privacy, I’m afraid," he said, looking at the two men, "but if you're sure you won't share Lydia's room, your Thaneship?"

"No, it's still technically Lydia's last day off, and she'll be rooming with me or sharing the tent with the three of us for a while, I'd rather let her have her own space for tonight. You've been incredibly hospitable to us all, this is a nicer room than half the taverns we've stayed in, and I can change into my night things in the hall, while these two change in here. Thank you again for welcoming us into your home." Da brushed off the thanks, but smiled as he left the room.

***

Nerussa woke, having slept well. The room was empty, but a wash cloth, soap, and a jug of still-warm water sat on the small table near the door. She washed and dressed as quickly as she could, because something smelled delicious, and she didn't want to miss it.

Upstairs, Da presented her with breakfast, and she joined the others at the table. He was an even better cook than his wife, it seemed, and Lydia smiled as she told them about some of his best dishes as they ate. Apparently, he'd been in the Legion when he was younger, and the travel had broadened his repertoire of culinary options far beyond that of the average Nord farmer. 

"Of course, Da wasn't born to a farmer's life. This place has been in Ma's family since the start of the Fourth Era, Da just got lucky and met Ma after he finished his time in the Legion. Rorik introduced them, didn't he, Ma? That was when he was looking to buy the land and rebuild the old town."

Lucien looked up from his notebook. “Oh, there hasn’t been a continuous settlement on the site, then? I know Ragnar the Red mentions ‘Ole Rorikstead’, and the place is mentioned in several older books, I suppose I just assumed…” He tapped his pencil thoughtfully against his bottom lip. “Quite the coincidence that the fellow happens to have the same name, then?”

Ma chuckled, “aye, it would be, if he hadn’t been born as Irvar. Don’t let on that you know that, though, it’s nobody’s business but his own. He’s a good man, and seems a good landlord to the farmers over that way. If he wants to build a little story up around himself, what’s the harm? Now, you’ll be needing some fresh provisions for the next few days, won’t you? Neither Da nor myself will take no for an answer on this, so you may as well just let us load you up.”

“Thank you, you’re very kind. I’m… not sure how serious your husband was, but I’d be more than happy to show you both my Voice before we leave, if you like?” Ma beamed at that, and grabbed Lydia’s pack to start work on loading it up with bread, cured meats, apples and a small wooden box which turned out to contain a rather delicious soft cheese and a few handfuls of dark purple berries.

Outside, Kaidan volunteered to be the target of Nerussa’s Unrelenting Force, taking a relaxed stance a few paces away. She hadn’t used the Shout much yet, but seeing the tall, broad-shouldered, heavily-armoured man stumble back and nearly lose his balance entirely as the second Word hit him made her think perhaps it would be rather useful in combat. Ma and Da were speechless, clearly more affected by the sight than they had expected, and Nerussa did her best not to show that she had noticed the tears in their eyes as she thanked them again for their hospitality and bid them farewell.


	42. Chapter 42

“I really do not like fighting Forsworn. They’re fast and vicious and if that weren’t enough, they’re resistant to magic!” Lucien grumbled as he, Kaidan and Lydia sat cleaning their swords, while Nerussa looked around the camp for the Akaviri statue Auryen was after. 

“At least you have your sword for those situations! I’m just stuck hoping I can keep casting long enough.” Her eyes caught a glimpse of absurdly bright green in the back of one of the shabby shelters, and she darted forward to grab it, packing it carefully away. 

“Actually, we’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.” Kaidan seemed to be choosing his words carefully. “I understand why you’re planning to go into Ustengrav by yourself. Think it’s damned foolish, but I know there’s nothing we can do to talk you out of it. Still, we’ve had a talk, mostly Lucien and me, but I asked Lydia on the way here and she agrees. You ought to have something to fall back on. There’s only so many magicka potions you can knock back before you throw up, especially if you’re having to heal with potions to save magicka. So, what we’re thinking is, maybe we should try and… train you with a weapon?”

Nerussa looked at him incredulously. “I can’t use a sword. The Training Centre made that abundantly clear after a year of failed attempts. No co-ordination.”

“Well, maybe between the three of us, we could find something that works for you. Anyway, you don’t have to decide right now, but the offer’s there, and I think you’d be well to consider it, at least.”

She pursed her lips and stood up, lifting her pack onto her shoulder. “I’ll think about it, fine. Lucien, pass me the map, I need to refresh my memory of the route to Dead Men’s Respite before we head off, far too easy to get lost in these mountains.”

***

Dead Men’s Respite wasn’t as immediately impressive as Bleak Falls Barrow, just a stone arch set into the rock, with an altar and a few standing stones on the steps leading up to it. She had to admit, though, the inside was quite something. They followed a ghostly figure through the place, encountering scores of Draugr and numerous traps and rudimentary puzzles, and it soon became clear the ruin was far larger than they had anticipated. They had made a brief detour to Markarth, at least, where Lydia, Kaidan and Lucien had bought silver blades and a small supply of silver-tipped arrows, while Nerussa spent several awkward minutes talking to a man who wanted her to accompany him into an abandoned house were people had supposedly heard strange sounds - obviously some kind of ruse.

After passing a curious door sealed by some kind of magical barrier, they came to a fake wall, lowered by a chain, just like in Broken Helm Hollow. Behind it, they found a skeleton clutching a damaged, ancient tome, both watched over by the same ghostly figure that had drawn them through the ruin. As Lucien gingerly picked up the book, the ghost vanished, only to reappear as they retraced their steps and reached the sealed door. They looked on as the ghost gestured toward the door, causing the seal to fade.

On the other side, they found a puzzle door, like in Bleak Falls. They had found a dragon claw in the first room of the ruin, encrusted in tiny rubies, so this didn't come as a particular surprise, and the door opened easily, revealing an immense chamber where the ghost stood, at the centre of a circle of throne-like seats, each occupied by a Draugr. As the four drew close, the ghost cried out "Olaf! It is time!"

Several Draugr rose from their positions, attacking whoever was closest to them. The group made short work of the undead, barely pausing as the second wave arose and attacked. Finally, the ghost called out to Olaf once more. At that, a sarcophagus on a raised level at the far end of the chamber burst open, the occupant howling in rage as he clambered out. 

_“Insolent bard! Die!”_

The creature standing over them superficially resembled Draugr they had seen, yet as they drew cautiously closer, there were clear differences. The most obvious was, of course, that it spoke Tamrielic, not the guttural words that other Draugr occasionally spoke, or Shouted, and which Nerussa and Lucien were reasonably confident were all in the Dragon Tongue. Its armour was different, too, and it wore a thin, golden crown atop its mummified head. It somehow seemed more vital than the Draugr they had thus far encountered.

Lucien in particular seemed reluctant to fight the thing, and Nerussa guessed he would have preferred to study it, but the creature which had once been King Olaf One-Eye gave them no choice. The ghost was its first target, but it soon turned its attention to the living encroaching into its dead realm. Nerussa was wary of using a fire ball and accidentally harming the ghost which was in close quarters with Olaf, so she settled for trying her Courage spell on her companions – bolstering their ability to shrug off damage and fight harder for a short time seemed like a better use of her magicka in this situation. 

“The bloody hell was that?” Kaidan snapped over his shoulder. Oh, damn. She had forgotten he didn’t like magic...

“Sorry, should have asked first. I’ll explain later.” He shrugged and finished closing the distance to the creature, and swung his blade hard at it.

Lydia shield bashed the thing from the side, and Nerussa was glad to see that Lucien’s silver-tipped arrows were clearly having far more of an effect than the steel kind he had brought to Bleak Falls Barrow. Suddenly, the Imperial slapped the palm of his hand to his forehead, and he dropped his bow, charging and releasing his Sun Fire spell, just in time to throw the creature off balance as it began to Shout, the ice breath swirling harmlessly up between Kaidan and Lydia as the thing fell. Kaidan stepped back as Lydia prepared to take the final blow, straddling the creature’s form as the pale golden flames dissipated, and pressing the sharp side of her blade into its throat with both hands, cutting roughly through the dessicated flesh and bone until the head came away, rolling comically a few times before finally coming to rest against the sarcophagus.

The ghost pulled out his lute, bowed deeply, and vanished. Nerussa became aware of a familiar chanting, and approached the Word Wall at the back of the chamber. 

**_NAH_ **

She remembered that one. “Fury.” When Arngeir had explained the three word Shout concept, he had written the other two words of Whirlwind Sprint – nah and kest, fury and tempest, in Tamrielic script in her journal. He had also given her some theoretical pointers on how to focus on a given Word at the point of a Dragon’s demise, he wasn’t entirely certain it would enable her to ‘unlock the knowledge’ of that specific Word, but it was certainly worth experimenting. Not that she was exactly keen to go looking for Dragons to kill, but there had already been reports of more Dragons sighted near settlements, though as yet no further attacks. If it came down to it, well, hopefully there would be some guards nearby to join the fray. 

Nerussa looked round. Kaidan was standing nearby, his arms folded, brow furrowed. 

“I am so sorry, Kaidan. I absolutely should not have cast that on you without permission, I won’t do it again.” 

His tone was careful. “What was it, exactly? I felt… stronger. I’m not sure how I feel about that, to own the truth.” 

“It’s a spell called Courage, from the Illusion school. Not that you need the fearlessness part, but yes, it also gives the target a burst of vitality – while it lasts, the person affected can take a few more hits, and keep fighting a little harder.” 

He considered for a moment. “Well, I can see the usefulness of that, although I would rather you reserve it for if I’m in real need – maybe against Dragons and the like. It didn’t feel bad, but I’d rather not have my mind messed with.” 

She nodded, her eyes unable to meet his even for a moment. He put a reassuring hand on her arm. 

“Hey, chin up. We all make mistakes. I’d rather yours were from lack of careful thought, than lack of care.” She wasn’t sure how to respond, but Lucien appeared at her side before she had a chance to do so. 

“Just look at this! It’s badly damaged, of course, but it’s still at least partly intact – this must be one of the oldest even partially-surviving books on Tamriel! Early first Era, if I remember correctly, and I usually do. Come on, let’s get this back to the College, I’ll wrap it up carefully, but I don’t want it knocking around in my backpack longer than necessary.” 

Nerussa smiled at her friend, and shot another apologetic look at Kaidan. His expression had cleared, though, and he smiled back at her. She flashed him a brief smile, then headed for the door. The other side held what appeared to have been a small treasury room, and they each filled their purses with a decent amount of some kind of ancient silver coins, and a handful of gem stones. Breezehome was looking more and more likely to be a feasible option in the near future, and that made her smile, at least. 


	43. Chapter 43

The following evening, Lucien was guest of honour at the revived Burning of King Olaf festival, although if he was honest, he wasn’t entirely comfortable with his part in the whole affair. He had possibly gotten a tiny bit carried away with his suggestions for the ‘supplementary material’ Viarmo wanted to write to fill out the illegible sections of the text. The whole ‘Olaf WAS Numinex’ thing had definitely been a little excessive. On the one hand, it was rather exciting to think that his words could potentially be recited for generations to come. On the other hand, it was under false pretences, and he would never be credited. 

He stood uncomfortably by Viarmo as the effigy was lit, and wished the whole thing would hurry up and finish so he could go and join the others, and maybe sample the food before hopefully heading back to the Winking Skeever and hiding under the bedclothes. He tried to shift his weight inconspicuously to his other foot, as Viarmo kept talking, and talking, and talking. There wasn’t even any performance element to the evening, he wouldn’t have minded so much if he could have sung for a while.

Finally, it was over, and Viarmo turned to speak to him as the other members of the College sped off to the tables of food. 

“I think they like you!”

“So, I’m a bard, now?” He did his best not to scoff. Honestly, he had been shocked enough by the College of Winterhold, but Solitude was to all intents and purposes an Imperial city, he would have expected rather more of a seat of learning based there.

“Yes, you are now a full-fledged member of the College of Bards. You are, of course, welcome to speak to any of the lecturers about either joining classes or private tuition, I believe you mentioned the lute? Oh, and here, the Patronage that Jarl Elisif asked me to bestow upon you.” 

He thanked the Headmaster as graciously as he could, and quickly tucked the surprisingly heavy pouch into his belt, as he hurried to see if there was anything left of the spread he had passed when they arrived for the event. He must have looked as crestfallen as he felt to see the tables bare, but on the walk back to the tavern, Nerussa looked over her shoulder before producing a carefully wrapped meat pasty and a piece of what he was delighted to recognise as honey cake. His eyes went misty for a moment. 

“A real taste of home, Nerussa! Thank you, this is wonderful. I have something for you, too, but it should probably wait until we’re behind closed doors. Viarmo has awarded me ‘a Patronage’, and I rather think it will put us over the amount we need to buy Breezehome.” 

She smiled broadly at that, and put her arm around his shoulder, squeezing briefly before letting go. The four of them walked through the late evening, and as they made their way through the narrow streets, which finally opened onto the marketplace where the tavern stood, he thought he could rather grow to like Solitude.


	44. Chapter 44

“Feel free to look around, and come find me if you have any questions. I’m very excited about the prospects of where we are headed!” Auryen handed Nerussa a book bearing the title, _Curator’s Guide_ and strolled off towards the library wing of the Museum.

“Gosh, how exciting! A partnership!” Lucien was obviously itching to leaf through the Guide, so Nerussa handed it to him as they descended the steps outside the building. She wondered how serious Auryen had been about the collection being ‘hers’, and whether it extended to allowing her to wear the ring she had rather reluctantly handed over. Perhaps they would pop back before leaving Solitude in the morning. 

As Kaidan held open the gate for the others, a red-faced young man ran up to them. “Oh, thank goodness, I found you, my lady. There’s an urgent message that you’re to come at once to the Jarl’s steward, please, follow me.” 

He had run the length of the city, to look at him, so Nerussa decided not to push for more information. The Blue Palace was a stone’s throw away, in any case, and they followed the messenger, a few paces behind. Kaidan and Lucien both made ‘wonder what that’s about?’ faces at her over their shoulders, and she shrugged back.

Inside the Palace, they were ushered into a side chamber, where Falk Firebeard stood, clearly agitated.

“Good morning, thank you for coming so quickly. I’m afraid there’s no time to stand on ceremony, Solitude is in grave danger. It appears that when you interrupted the binding ritual, Potema escaped - you weren’t to know, of course. It seems some of her minions have been… disrupting the Hall of the Dead. We need your assistance, if you’re willing?”

Nerussa looked at her companions for confirmation. “What do you need?”

His face relaxed, and he smiled gratefully. “Go to the Hall of the Dead. Speak with Styrr, he’ll explain what’s been happening. A thousand thanks, Nerussa, Solitude will be in your debt.”

***

The Priest of Arkay was deep in prayer as they entered the Hall of the Dead, but he stood to greet them immediately. "Thank you, you must be Nerussa, yes? It's a great relief Falk was able to find you so quickly. How much do you know about Potema?"

"A little, but Lucien here can explain anything I need to know about her history. You can focus on what's happening now, you look tired, I don't want to exhaust you further."

He bowed his head briefly and continued. "That is thoughtful of you. It seems that Potema's Spirit escaped Wolfskull Cave, but my prayers have indicated that there is something connecting you and Potema - it seems likely that you are the only one who can defeat her. You must go into the catacombs, make your way to her tomb, and bring her remains to me. It is likely that her minions will make your progress dangerous, and you will almost certainly have to battle Potema's Spirit. I can give you these Scrolls of Sun Fire, if you do not know the spell."

Nerussa thanked him, and took the Scrolls and the key to the catacombs. 

They left the Hall of the Dead and walked as casually as they could to the Temple of the Divines, which held the entrance to the catacombs. Once they had passed through the door, they locked it behind them, and moved carefully through the dark, dank halls. 

Evidently the catacombs were no longer in active use, the walls and even the cobwebs thick with dust. After a short while, they found a hole one of the Priests in the Temple had described, which had been made by some of Potema's servants, from the true catacombs into the stone hallways. An iron gate had been crudely fixed into place over the hole, and as Nerussa attempted to open it, a familiar voice echoed around them.

"You've arrived at last. The heroine who prevented me from being bound returns to my fold. I have much to thank you for, little one. When you die I will raise you and you can take your place by my side."

The Voice seemed more relaxed than the last time she had heard it, and as it finished speaking, the handle suddenly loosened, turning easily, the gate swinging open. They crossed the threshold cautiously, and made their way along the tunnel, further into the rock. The passage was barely wide enough for Nerussa to stretch one arm out to the side, carved into the rock by long-dead hands.

After a few dozen paces, the tunnel widened into a small chamber, also seemingly created rather than natural. At first it appeared to be a dead end. As Lucien drew closer, his habitual Candlelight spell following him, they could make out a faint line around part of the wall, and a recess nearby, in which Nerussa found a lever. 

On pulling it the wall began to move. Not raised into the wall like some they had seen, but rather rotating, a patch of sickly green light slowly growing in one corner. Observing carefully, Nerussa saw iron bars through the hole in the moving wall, and they, too, were gradually moving, raising slowly. She held her breath, and pushed the lever back to its original position, just as the wall and gate were both open enough to allow the four of them through. 

On the far side was a similar setup, though more convoluted, and they dealt with it fairly simply. Beyond those gates was another chamber in which a Draugr slept on a stone throne, accompanied by a somewhat desiccated Vampire, who spoke as they entered the room.

"You've come far, mortal. No doubt you seek to enter Potema's Sanctum. I can see to that. We'll need plenty of fresh corpses to rebuild her army, you see."

Nerussa, Lucien and even Lydia shrank back from the thing. Kaidan, it seemed, had encountered such monstrosities before, or was simply not intimidated by the sight, and advanced, silver sword held firmly. The creature was clearly greatly weakened by what must have been several centuries with no way to feed, and it fell easily enough, at which the Draugr rose from its seat, raising a rusted, ancient iron axe.

After defeating the Draugr, they passed through a narrow archway into yet another chamber, this one littered with seemingly dead Draugr and another Vampire. As the Voice began to speak once more, Nerussa knelt and grabbed as many weapons as she could from the things on the floor, tossing them to the far side of the space, by another iron gate.

The Voice did not appear to notice she hadn't been listening to it, and several of the dead-undead things began to glow faintly blue, raising unnaturally from the ground. 

All but the Vampire - the only spellcaster - found themselves reduced to attempting to punch the four living people to death, and Nerussa used one of the three Sun Fire Scrolls on the Vampire, as Lucien directed his own Sun Fire spell at two of the three Draugr. 

"You are a bloody genius," Kaidan grinned at Nerussa as they climbed over the pile on the floor, passing through the iron gate into another narrow tunnel. "With any luck, you may be able to use that trick in Ustengrav, as well."

She nodded, too intent on what she could see of the chamber beyond the gate to reply further, and stepped forward to pull the lever to unblock their passage. 

Stepping through, Nerussa took in the chamber around her. It was more like the ancient tombs they had visited, with swirling shapes etched into the walls, rather than plain, time-worn rock. The chamber held a number of sarcophagi around the walls, facing into the centre, where the same swirling violet light they had seen in Wolfskull Cave danced above the ground. The Voice spoke again, confirming her assumption that the light was indeed Potema’s Spirit itself.

“You have come far, mortal, but can you stand against my inner council? Let us see!”

The all-too-familiar sound of sarcophagi bursting open, the lids crashing to the ground, threatened to overwhelm Nerussa for a moment, and she began to count under her breath.

_“Para… Vera… Nata…”_

Drawing a slow breath, she advanced, Fire Bolt charged. She used Whirlwind Sprint to reach the largest, furthest Draugr, as the rest of the group focused on the seven or eight lesser targets. A little disorienting, but she recovered quickly, blasting the Draugr with both hands. She switched to her basic Flames spell, dancing back out of reach of the creature’s axe, shooting short bursts of fire at it as she did so. She felt an arc of pain as the violet light hit her with some kind of shock spell, and grabbed a vial from her belt to soothe it, moving around the Draugr so that she could keep an eye on the light, and perhaps use the Draugr itself as a shield.

 _ **“Fus Ro!”**_ The Draugr stumbled back, taking the knee as Kaidan had outside Alfgoll Farm, but it was already weakened, and struggled to right itself. She hit it with another two Fire Bolts, and it fell. The others caught up to her, and she waved away their comments. 

“Figured I ought to try taking on one of the big buggers by myself, eh?” A heavy iron door at the back of the chamber slammed open, and Potema’s Spirit swept past them, vanishing through it. The door revealed a small room, where a short flight of stairs led to a platform lit by a hole in the roof, atop which sat a throne, much newer than the chamber itself, though still badly weathered by the rain and snow which must have fallen on it over the centuries. 

As they approached, the violet light coalesced into a ghostly figure, shifting back and forth between that of a young maiden, an old woman, and a skeleton in rotting, once-fine garb. Nerussa took the second of the Sun Fire scrolls, and Lucien charged the same spell. The Spirit held its arms out to the side, a bright green glow in the palm of each hand, and began to cast. A master spell, by the look of it, and most likely Illusion. Nerussa had a nasty feeling she knew which spell it would be, but apparently even powerful Spirits, though lacking a physical form, could be disrupted enough by Unrelenting Force to lose concentration on a spell. Good to know. 

While the Spirit righted itself, Nerussa and Lucien focused their Sun Fire on it, stepping out of the way to allow Kaidan to strike the thing down with his greatsword. Lydia carefully lifted the remains of the Wolf Queen into the iron mail bag Styrr had given them for the purpose, and they began to retrace their steps, until Lucien pointed out that there was a good chance they would be unable to get back through the gates in the revolving walls, and suggested they try the passage behind the throne. 

They soon found themselves on a rocky ledge above Solitude’s dock district, in the early evening light, and had to scramble down as best they could. Back inside the city, they headed to the Hall of the Dead, where Styrr was waiting for them. Lydia presented him with the bag of bones, and they explained briefly what had happened. The old Nord listened intently, and congratulated them on their victory. “It is likely that Potema had not yet reached her full potential, which is not to undermine your achievement, simply to thank you for taking action so swiftly. Solitude, and perhaps even the rest of Tamriel, could have been in grave danger, had Potema succeeded in returning to physical form, which it seems was her likely aim.”

He set the bag carefully in the centre of a prepared space in the middle of the floor, and held both hands out, charging a Master spell of his own. “I suggest you turn away, the spell I am using to sanctify the remains will not harm you, but it is extremely bright.”

They did as he advised, and were glad of it, even with their backs turned, the light when he finished casting the spell was dazzling. “It is done,” he said, satisfaction replacing the last shreds of concern in his voice. 

Inside the Palace, they approached Falk Firebeard, who greeted them warmly. “You’re back! I trust that’s a good sign? Excellent. You have done a great thing today - perhaps I should have heeded Vanius’s warnings more closely. I won’t make that mistake again.”

He handed them a bag of coin, explaining that the Jarl sent her thanks but wanted to keep the whole affair as quiet as possible, so would not be thanking them personally. 

“Make no mistake, we consider you protectors of Solitude. I would also like to award you this shield, Dragonborn, although it may be more useful in the hand of your Housecarl, there. Perhaps the next time you are in Solitude, you would speak to the Jarl herself, I believe she would like to ask a small favour of you.”

Thanking the Steward, they set off back to the Winking Skeever, where they planned to get some sleep before an early carriage ride to Whiterun.

***

"I'm afraid Breezehome may not be suitable for your needs, it's a small family home, one master bedroom, simple quarters for your housecarl, and a room suitable for a child's bedroom. I think that your companions would find that latter rather cramped" Proventus Avenicci eyed Kaidan openly as he finished speaking.

Nerussa tried to hide her disappointment, although Avenicci didn't seem to be paying much attention to her. Still, he also hadn't noticed any difference from the little he would have seen of her face when she had visited Dragonsreach before, hooded and with her head bowed, so she supposed she shouldn't complain. 

"There is another property we could offer, however. It's a little more expensive, but unlike Breezehome, it is already fully furnished, and ready to move in, with one room your housecarl could use, and another for your companions, as well as, of course, a rather well-appointed master bedroom. If you're interested, the house is situated above the waterfall on the road from Riverwood, I'm sure that we could entrust you with the key to visit and decide whether it would suit you."

She glanced at her companions, who nodded, and shook Avenicci's hand. "That sounds perfect, I have this promissory note from the East Empire Company, I believe it should cover the majority, and we can settle the rest in coin?"

He smiled appreciatively, "ah, finally someone with some sophistication. I've grown too used to dealing with Nords, who insist on hefting great sacks of coin around as though it… Well, that's rather beside the point, isn't it? Come, I'll escort you to the counting room, and then let's get you those keys. Oh! I almost forgot, how remiss of me. The Jarl wished to see you when you next visited Dragonsreach, he has something for you.”


	45. Chapter 45

Riverfall Lodge came into view as they began climbing the road toward Riverwood. The main house was built slightly into the hillside, with outside walkways on each of the three levels. Just beyond the house, they could see a small tower with a faint green glow emanating from the top - presumably the alchemy lab Avenicci had mentioned to Nerussa. None of them could agree what the other buildings and sheltered areas might be, but they speculated amiably as they approached, finally reaching a simple wooden bridge which spanned the river a dozen or so paces from the waterfall. 

Kaidan whistled as they went through the nearest door, which opened into a large kitchen area with a scrubbed flagstone floor. “Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined buying even a part of an ’ouse like this. And this is just the kitchen?” 

Nerussa nodded slowly, surveying the space. There was a large fire pit in the centre of the room, and as she peered up through the gap in the ceiling above, she could see all the way to what seemed to be a vented roof, three storeys above. A second fire pit in an alcove held a cooking spit and a small range for several pots, and in the corner was a small stone oven. The staircase in the opposite corner led up to a dining area with rather more weapon racks than Nerussa would have chosen, but perhaps those could be moved, if the others didn’t mind. 

On the other side of the first floor, they found a bar and several comfortable seats around a fur rug, on which Vigilance immediately fell asleep. This floor also held two of the four bedrooms Avenicci had mentioned - the third was upstairs, currently empty, and Lydia and Kaidan made short work of moving one of the beds up from the larger of the first floor bedrooms, leaving ample space for Lucien to settle in and start writing a letter to his parents, giving them details of the new house, and including a long list of items he hoped they would be able to send to him to furnish the room. 

Nerussa put up a small show of protesting when everyone assumed she would have the largest room, but she hadn’t fooled any of them for a second, she was sure. Closing the door behind her, she smiled to herself, and looked around. It was certainly the nicest room she had ever had all to herself - she had no siblings, so her childhood bedroom wasn’t shared, but it was fairly austere in the typical Altmeri style - children were not to be indulged, after all. Her quarters back in Alinor had been comfortable enough, she had spent all her spare coin on soft cushions and other things that felt nice, but it was still cramped and a little shabby. She tried not to think about whether it had already been purged of her belongings, not that she had all that many. Her letters were the only thing that really mattered, and she had realised with horror back in Last Seed that she had left them at the Embassy. With luck Saltar might have offered to be the one to check her quarters…

This room, however, struck a wonderful balance between spacious and cosy, with a soft, warm, red cover on the bed, a large desk - she suspected Lucien might sometimes ask to make use of it, and she smiled at the idea - and plenty of space to keep her clothes, and best of all, bookcases. 

The pair of antlers mounted above the bed would have to go, though.

In the next room there was even a small bath, and she made a mental note to buy the prettiest-smelling soaps she could find the next day, and wondered about the possibilities of using Flames to keep the bathwater warm. She wasn’t entirely sure about the lattice work window that offered a view into her bedroom, presumably to allow light into the bath area. Hopefully there was another bathing room somewhere that they hadn’t yet found, and she could keep the key for this one...

Lydia called up from the kitchen, and sure enough, there was a small trap door none of them had noticed, leading down into a comfortable space, half filled with a large bath, almost big enough to swim in, with a chaise longue and a space to hang up one’s clothes. The others were more than happy to allow Nerussa the upstairs bathroom if they could have first call on this one in the mornings. She almost regretted it, but only almost. There was room for a large seating-pillow in her bathroom, she thought, more or less.

They spent the rest of the evening exploring their new home, finding a forge, an outdoor dining area, a covered space with a seat from which one could ponder a spectacular view across the waterfall and the plains of Whiterun Hold. The final building they came to caused Lydia to smile broader than Nerussa had seen before, even at her family home. 

“It’s a sauna! They’re very traditional, although you don’t see as many as you used to, my Da says. There’s one at Morthal, and Dawnstar, places where people really need to be able to get the chill out of their bones. I’d think there’s one in Windhelm, too, though I didn’t see one when we were there. When I turned eighteen, my parents paid for me to take a trip to the Dawnstar sauna, it was wonderful. I could probably get the fire stoked, if you wanted to use it some time…”

Nerussa smiled. “You are more than welcome to use anything here, Lydia, it’s your home, too.” She looked at the men, who echoed her words. Lydia looked pleased, if a little uncomfortable.

“You’re very kind, my Thane, I just don’t want to overstep.”

“If you do, I’ll be the first to tell you, but I want you to feel comfortable here, and as a Nord, you should certainly have the right to use the sauna where you live!”

Lydia nodded. “Well, if you don’t need anything else, my Thane, I should probably get the kitchen fires burning, warm the place up.” She nodded once more, and turned abruptly to head back into the house. As the others moved to follow her, Nerussa caught sight of a young man standing uncertainly at the near end of the bridge. She walked over to him, and he introduced himself as one of the kitchen staff at Dragonsreach. “Aven… The Steward wanted me to bring this, my lady, he thought perhaps you wouldn’t have any food with you, so the cook has packed up a good sized piece of roast lamb and all that goes with it.” He held out a basket, which also held a couple of bottles of wine, and a stoneware jar. “That’s apple juice, in case any of you don’t… ‘partake’, I think was the word he used? It’s very nice, although I’d still prefer mead.” He smiled cheerfully, refused to take the coins she offered as thanks, and strolled back across the bridge.

She looked across the river, the sun was setting, and the sky was a beautiful array of pinks, oranges and purples. On the other hand, the basket was heavy, so she decided perhaps she’d enjoy the sunset another night, and turned to open the door into the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: The player home I’m using is sort of a mixture of JK’s Riverfall Cottage, https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/34542 a gorgeous mod by the superb Jkrojmal (creator of the JK’s Skyrim series, Darkend, and the Dumzbthar dungeon in Lucien Flavius’s personal quest), and Riverside Lodge by Lupus (whose Mammoth Manor I also highly recommend) https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/9567 (Well, in gameplay terms, in my new playthrough, and for screenshots, I’ll be using JK’s, but the original version of Nerussa’s game had Riverside Lodge, and they’ve both got great aspects - the actual house will mainly be Riverfall, with some of its surroundings, but I’ll be including some of the outbuildings (such as the sauna) from Riverside, and I’ll probably tweak the companion rooms in terms of how I describe them.) I’ll be calling it Riverfall Lodge, because, well, it’s kinda too big to call it a Cottage, really!


	46. Chapter 46

Late that evening, Nerussa poured herself a cup of spiced wine, picked up a blanket, and ventured outside. She found her way to the small covered seating area overlooking the waterfall, and made herself comfortable. The moons hung, full and heavy in the sky, and as she gazed out over the river, she caught sight of a slowly growing streak of green-blue light. As she sat, occasionally sipping her wine, the light expanded until she was seeing her first true Aurora. 

"Breathtaking, isn't it?" She jumped a little, then nodded, and Kaidan moved forward to lean on the rail in front of them. "You don't mind, do you?" He looked over his shoulder at her, and she smiled and shook her head. She had been trying not to notice, but her stupid heart jumped in her chest as he returned her smile, meeting her gaze a little too long, before turning back to the view. Oh, by Auri-El and Xarxes and all the rest of them, this was _not_ something she needed. 

"Been meaning to talk to you," he said softly. 

"Oh?" She hoped he didn't notice the little crack in her voice. Gods, she wasn't a girl of thirty, what was wrong with her? "Is something wrong?"

She heard the smile in his voice. "Just let me talk, will you?" He grew serious again, still staring out at the night sky. "When we first began travelling together, it was because I promised to repay a life debt to you. After the past few weeks, which started out with fighting a dragon, and ended with defeating a long-dead necromancer queen's ghost, it might be fair to say that debt has been discharged…"

"You want… to leave?" She heard the tremble in her voice, and cursed her inability to hide such things. "You bought this house with us!"

He turned to face her, a look of concern on his face. "Uh, no, that's… that's not what I was getting at. I'm not much good at this." He sat on the floor, leaning back on the rail, his face lifted just a little to meet her gaze. "Just… let me say what I've come to say?"

She nodded, counting in her head, willing her face to stay placid. He took a deep breath, and began speaking once more.

"I've been on my own for a long time, without anyone I felt I could trust, or anywhere to really belong. Since I've met you… and... Lucien, of course… that's started to change. There are many ways to save a life, Dragonborn, and you've saved mine in more ways than I can explain. Finally, I'm carving out a future, and remembering what it means to care about someone enough that… you'd put their life before your own."

"Kaidan, what are you trying to say?" She found herself, for the first time she could remember, meeting someone's gaze for longer than a few moments, without discomfort. His gaze was level, open, there was no trickery to it, nothing hidden that she would be laughed at for failing to see.

He was the one to break eye contact, this time, though he didn't appear uncomfortable either. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, just a hint of hesitation at the edges. "I want to know if you still want me at your side, not as a mercenary under obligation, but as... your friend, your ally."

She considered her words carefully, before responding. "I've thought of you in that way for some time, Kaidan. There was no need to ask, but if it's been on your mind, I'm glad you did." 

"It warms my heart to know it, friend. I'll leave you to your stargazing" He stood, and began to leave, but as she reached for her cup, he darted forward, cat-like, and whispered in her ear.

"The tips of your ears have gone pink, did you know that?" 

Before she could react, he was halfway to the door. She sat there for some time, staring out at the sky, the spiced wine cold in her cup.


	47. Chapter 47

“I think it may be time to head to Ustengrav.” They were sitting in the sunshine, finishing a late breakfast which Kaidan had cooked while Lydia took Vigilance to Lucan’s cabin to pick up Nerussa and Lucien’s things, and return the key to Camilla.

Lucien looked worriedly at her. “Are you sure you’re ready? Perhaps we should go back to Winterhold, maybe that nice Enthir fellow will have another copy of Sun Fire…”

“Did you give any thought to a fall-back weapon?” Kaidan asked.

“Lucien, I think if we did, it would just be the same delaying tactics you so fairly pointed out when we were staying in Lucan’s cabin. The main benefit of Sun Fire was so as not to harm Kaidan and Lydia, but that isn’t going to be a problem in Ustengrav, and I do better with stream spells than targeted ones, anyway. I _would_ like to see if Farengar or the court wizard at Morthal have any stronger Flame spells, though. And, Kaidan, actually, I have thought about it. I don’t think I’ll get very far, but you’re right, it’s sensible to at least try. I was thinking we head to Morthal, spend a few days there, try and get somewhere with that idea, and I’ll hopefully have a new spell tome to study in the evenings. How does that sound?”

Her three companions looked at each other, and apparently none of them could come up with any particular objection. 

“Good, then it’s settled. We’ll go into Whiterun, I’ll speak to Farengar, Lucien, is there any training you want to pick up while we’re there? After that, we’ll take the carriage to Morthal and set ourselves up in the tavern. Tomorrow, I suppose we’ll make an attempt at training me, if nothing else, it should be entertaining for the locals...”

***

The children of Morthal hadn’t had so much entertainment in a long time. Normally life was fairly boring, chores, stupid grownups worrying about the war, that sort of thing. But for the whole day yesterday and since they got up this morning, they’d been sneaking closer and closer to the flattish, dryish area in front of the Jarl’s palace, to get a better view of the Elf lady trying to fight her friends. She wasn’t getting any better, but they were learning a lot of really good swears.

“Oghma’s tits, Kaidan, I’m never going to get the hang of this!”

The very tall man grinned at her. “Well, I’m sure if you find yourself cornered and unable to cast, the draugr will leave you alone if you swear loudly enough. But just in case, shall we keep trying?”

She did an annoyed face, but Helgi was pretty sure the lady was trying not to grin back at him. She straightened her robes, and held the wooden practice sword in front of her. Helgi had never seen real fighting before, but the lady definitely didn’t hold her sword like any of her friends. They all fought a bit differently, the very tall man was the best at it, he almost danced with his sword. The Nord lady fought like the Guards when a troll found its way to the town, Helgi thought, and the man with the light hair was very determined, although they were pretty sure he was really more of a wizard sort. The Elf lady held her sword like a Mama pointing a wooden spoon at a child who’d stolen a taffy treat.

The Nord lady was standing straight and tall in her shiny black and gold armour. “Thane! Your posture! You’re wielding a sword, not casting a damn spell! Your wrist needs to be firm! Right. Let’s go again. Kaidan! Attack!”

The fighting began again, and the Nord lady watched for a few minutes before beckoning to Helgi. The other children saw the lady whisper something to her. Helgi nodded, then ran into the inn. She came back after a few minutes, struggling with the weight of the lady’s pack. The lady knelt and pulled a bundle out of the pack, as well as a whole silver septim for Helgi.

“My Thane, if I might interrupt?”

The Elf lady didn’t seem to mind stopping. She looked at the Nord lady, and at the bundle being held out to her.

“I hope you don’t mind, Thane, I used some of the silver that was in the cabin, while I was back with Ma and Da…”

The Elf lady smiled, and shook her head, as she unwrapped the bundle and found an axe with a shiny, silver head. Agni pointed at the weapon. “See how it’s glowing orange? Falion says that means a fire enchantment.” The children were very impressed, although they privately thought that they could have worked out orange meant fire.

The Elf lady was a lot better at swinging the axe than she was at holding the sword. There was a lot more handle so she didn’t seem so afraid of grabbing it wrong and hurting her hands. It was still fun to watch, though.

By the afternoon, they’d gotten bold enough to sit on the steps of the palace, shouting encouragement to the lady, who was practicing blocking. The grown-ups said the lady was the Dragonborn, but the children weren’t sure if that was just a joke. Everyone knew only Nords could be Dragonborns, although the children were still arguing about whether ladies could or not. The lady was really good at shouting though, but then so were most of the grown-ups in town, and they weren’t Dragonborns!

The lady was getting good at blocking, which the man with the light hair, who was sitting with the children now, sharing some bread and cheese he had bought from Jonna, said was good. Draugr couldn’t heal themselves, even with potions, and the lady had a special spell so she could heal a little bit all the time, even when she didn’t have magicka to cast a new spell. All she really had to do, the man said, was keep alive until she could cast again, she didn’t need to be able to kill the draugr with the axe.

The very tall man came to sit with them, too. One of the littler children tried to climb on his back, and Helgi and Agni scolded him.

“The Elf lady is your friend, isn’t she?” Helgi was playing with her coin, watching the light glint off it as she moved it between different fingers.

The two men agreed.

“If she’s your friend, why are you letting her go into Ustengrav by herself?” Just at that moment, the Elf lady managed to make the Nord lady drop her sword, and for some reason this brought out some of the best swears yet. The light-haired man pointed at her and asked Helgi, “do you think she’s the sort of person who has to be _let_ do anything?” Helgi didn’t think she was, at all.


	48. Chapter 48

_**22nd Frostfall** _

Very, very glad of Lydia’s axe. Ustengrav is actually much emptier than anticipated, so far, although I suspect when I pass these gates I may find myself up against a large number of draugr. Still, I wouldn’t have made it this far without the axe.

When I first entered the tomb, I heard voices. Thankfully they were distracted enough by their conversation, that they didn’t hear me approaching, and I was able to cast Invisibility, move closer, and eavesdrop. Necromancers, unsurprisingly. Seemed to be practicing on the bandits they’d just killed. Presumably they were intending to experiment on some draugr, as well. Was very glad of my necklace of resist frost, necromancers are so predictable. Well, apart from that one on the road near Valtheim, his ghostly warrior was a nasty shock. I do need to bear in mind that some of the Skyrim necromancers do actually seem to practice necromancy now and again.

The next fight (why must everything involve a next fight?) was tougher, and I think something about the spell he used stunted my ability to replenish my magicka, although that seems to have worn off now. Still, it lasted long enough that I had need of the axe. As I say, the place is actually strangely empty, and I made quick progress with the odd single draugr showing up, until I found myself in an exceptionally dark, cramped chamber. I had been growing cocky and had not bothered to refresh my Invisibility, although in truth, I’m not sure Draugr are affected by that school. Must ask at the College.

There were actually only two draugr, and one was nothing particularly special. The other, though, was more worrying. Larger, for a start, and wearing a horned helm. He had his back to me, and I actually tried to back away, hoping I could get far enough away to conceal myself and creep past.

Of course, I was perhaps a little frightened and had forgotten there was an urn in the path backwards. The draugr turned to investigate the clattering sound, and I can only assume that those glowing eyes of theirs see better in the dark even than a Khajiit. The larger one Shouted at me, with frost in its breath. I was frozen, partly by the magicks, partly by fear. Some hero of legend... Thankfully, I was able to cast a healing spell before they reached me, or they would have finished me off for sure. 

They had me at a severe disadvantage, though, and I was having to heal myself almost constantly, at the same time as trying to cast flame spells at them. It was too much, too confusing, too draining, my magicka wasn’t replenishing at its normal rate, even when I invoked my blood to enhance it, it wasn’t possible, I could not continue. Thankfully, I had the axe. Even more thankfully, Kaidan had taken it to Fallion to be enchanted with a good, strong fire enchantment.

As weakened as I was, so were they. I hurled forth Fus, which staggered them enough to give me a chance to draw the weapon, and, somehow, I felled the weaker one with a single blow. The larger one, naturally, was more difficult, but somehow (to be honest, the memory is blurred…) I managed it.

After that, I rested for some time, gradually healing myself. Very glad of Colette’s training, I used the same technique as I did on Kaidan back in the abandoned prison - focusing most of the spell into actual wounds, but suffusing the entire body with the last moments of the cast, to take care of the muscle pain and fatigue, although I had not anticipated that I would fall short on that - I suppose Kaidan’s body was already rather more able to tolerate muscle fatigue. 

I hope I never have to fight with a bloody weapon again. Even after magical healing, my hand hurts like Oblivion, my arm feels like it’s been stretched and brought back to its own size again, and I suspect that my shoulder will be sore for a week. I don’t think it’s worth wasting more magicka and time trying to bring my arm back to normal just now, perhaps when we’re back in Morthal, where Lucien can assist me.

Eventually, I decided to press on. Soon enough I came to the vast cavern I had seen earlier through a gap in the wall. It was beautiful, I’m unsure whether the man-made part originally extended further, or whether it was always built overlooking the enormous, empty space. The presence of a Word Wall down near the waterfall suggests the latter, perhaps some form of nature worship was involved? The Word itself was ZII, which Arngeir said would partner with Feim, the first Word I learned, and the third Word of that Shout will be Gron, apparently. The Shout, all together, is known as Become Ethereal, and sounds incredibly useful. I think Feim will be the Word to focus on, as per Arngeir’s pointers (see list at back!) the next time we fight a Dragon.

In any case, this area was populated only by skeletons, easily dealt with, particularly as my magicka was finally starting to feel normal again. I didn’t fully explore the chamber, I’m not exactly desperate for money at the moment, so hunting for treasure seemed like a waste of time, and I’d already been in here a long time – it was early morning when I came in, and judging by the weak light coming through a hole in the top of the cavern, it must be nearing dusk.

I’m now sitting by a set of three stones, in front of a tunnel blocked by three gates. Naturally, this is the part where only a Dragonborn can gain further entrance. The first stone opens the first gate, and so on, and of course they close so quickly, only one who can use Whirlwind Sprint may make it past all six in time. I don’t much like Whirlwind Sprint, feels all wrong. So, I’m resting up a little, to ensure I can make it through on the first attempt – I might be a little more confident if I had the next word of the Shout (which I presume would take me further, or move me even faster - ‘Nah’ may be a better choice for the next Word, actually) but I’ve measured it – twenty paces from the first stone to the first gate, and I’m almost positive I’m also going to have to run part of the way under my own steam. I think the thing to do is to run as fast as I can past the three stones and Wuld at the last one.

Good job I’m not wearing armour.


	49. Chapter 49

Lydia watched the two men. Kaidan was stalking irritably around their camp, checking the tents were properly set up every few minutes, stoking the fire so often he was in danger of toppling it. Lucien was, on the surface, much more calm, but he had been on the same page of his book since before sunset, and by now, the moons were high in the sky. 

“I’m sure she'll be out soon, you should get some rest.”

Lucien looked up. “She’s been in there an awfully long time, Lydia. What if something happened to her? What if she needs our help?”

“We’re not to go chasing after her, she said,” Kaidan scowled as he spoke. “I knew I should have insisted on going inside.”

“She _is_ the Dragonborn, Kaidan, she’s likely to have to go to more dangerous places than this by herself, eventually.” Lucien didn’t sound at all happy about it, not that Lydia could blame him. 

“Look, I tell you what, Kaidan. If she’s not out by the time Masser has moved to _there_ , we’ll go in, scout out the antechamber at least. How does that sound?” Lydia looked him in the eye as she spoke. He scowled again, but nodded curtly. 

“Fine, I don’t want to break my word to her, but I also don’t want her dying in there because I was too bloody stuck on that. Perhaps we should find another topic of conversation, though, take our minds off the possibilities...”

Before any of them could come up with a new subject, though, they became aware of Vigilance pulling at Lucien’s sleeve. The hound, satisfied that he’d got the two-legged idiots’ attention at last, ran down the wooden steps inside the circular, hollowed-out barrow mound that led to the entrance to Ustengrav, and growled softly at the door.

Lucien and Lydia scrambled to their feet, and the three of them ran after the dog, pushing open the heavy, carved iron door. Inside, they moved softly through the antechamber, observing the corpses of bandits and a stray necromancer as they went. Soon enough they came to a set of steps leading downwards, at the bottom of which lay a number of dead draugr and necromancers, the latter group bearing signs of fire magic. They were about to head further down the hallway when they heard a creak and the grind of stone on stone. It came from a side room, filled with urns, and they quietly drew their weapons and approached.

A tunnel was in the process of being revealed, another stone slab set into the wall, raised by some chain or lever. As they watched, a pale golden hand reached through the gap, and another, finding purchase on the edge of the opening and, as soon as the slab was high enough, pulling herself through as far as she could, before collapsing.

Lucien and Lydia had to drag the dog away, he was desperate to comfort his mistress, but she was visibly covered in Frostbite venom, where it hadn’t already been absorbed into her skin and clothes, and they couldn’t allow Vigilance to get any on his sensitive snout. Kaidan stepped forward, crouching beside Nerussa, pulling her the rest of the way through the hole in the wall of the chamber. He pulled the water skin from his belt, rinsing as much of the venom from her skin as he could. The Thane, barely conscious, seemed to be muttering something, though Lydia couldn’t make out what over the dog’s protests.

Kaidan looked up at Lydia. “Got any spare clothes in your pack? Good. Lucien, I’m going to take that mutt outside while Lydia cleans Nerussa up and changes her into clothes that aren’t soaked in spider-spittle. When she’s done with that, do you think you can heal her up?”

“I don’t know any cure poison spells, but I’ll certainly do what I can. Perhaps one of us should run to Morthal for help?”

“I can do that, when she’s cleaned up,” Lydia volunteered. She and Kaidan had switched positions, now, and she could hear some of what her Thane was saying, although it made about as much sense as she supposed she should have expected. Something about vampires, and occasionally the words “the Pale Elf”. Whatever it was, she seemed quite upset about it. Kaidan nodded, picked up the protesting wolfhound, and left.

“I would have thought he’d want to stay…” Lucien said, tentatively, as he walked around a wall which divided the room in two, to allow Lydia to make a start on changing Nerussa’s clothes. 

“When he can’t do anything?” She stripped the Thane’s robes from her, doing her best not to stretch the fabric which seemed weakened by the venom. 

“I suppose that’s fair. Do you suppose… Well, never mind.” She could hear the occasional ‘clack’ of him checking through the potions in his vial belt. Judging from the lack of triumphant ‘aha!’ she supposed he had not found a forgotten cure poison potion.

When Nerussa was clean, and dressed in Lydia’s things, Lucien returned to kneel next to them. He charged his Healing Hands spell, and as he did, Nerussa tried to sit up, grabbed hold of Lucien’s arm, looked right into his eyes and said it, clear as day. “The Pale Elf! It was him!” The Imperial barely had a chance to respond, before she slumped back, but this time it seemed a more natural sleep, albeit fitful. Lucien finished healing her as best he could, and went to find Kaidan to help Lydia move Nerussa outside.


	50. Chapter 50

Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone waved her husband’s objections away. “I’ll have whichever guests I wish in my Hall, Aslfur. She could hardly stay at the Inn, now could she? Their sauna may be warm, but the rest of the place is damper than the swamp outside! No place for someone like her to recuperate…”

He sighed. “As you wish, _my Jarl_ , but did you have to give her our bed?” His wife shooed him out of the guest room where they had spent the night, chuckling to herself as she remembered how little he’d complained of the change of scenery the previous night. 

She was tempted to have words with this Altmer when she awoke. Tell her not to waste any more time. With any Nord, she would assume coming so close to death would be enough to make her get on with it, but you didn’t need visions to know this one was stubborn, not after the whole town had spent two days watching her fighting - and refusing to back down from - a losing battle to learn swordplay.

Still, was it really Idgrod’s place to push the two of them together before they were ready? And there was more to it than stubbornness, that was plain enough. Idgrod could feel her fear. Not the terror that washed over Idgrod as the girl thrashed her way through nightmares of some memory of vampires. Nightmares that Idgrod herself could feel, and wished for the first time she could not. No, this was a more mundane fear, but one that seemed more likely to actually stop her. It was clear from the nightmares that this Nerussa had held her own against the vampires, although certainly she had had a most impressive ally, and Idgrod would very much like to ask the Altmer about _him_ when she awoke. But this fear was of being hurt, or of hurting another, and any fool could tell you how powerful a block that could be. Bah, Idgrod had no patience for timidity, and it didn’t suit an Altmer, nor did it befit the Dragonborn. 

And yet, something told her to give the young ones a chance to work it out for themselves, although if they returned to Morthal without having done so, she might reconsider. She might have chided herself for thinking of the girl as a ‘young one’ - they were of an age, she suspected - but Altmer didn’t age the same way humans did, she was much younger in her heart, however capable she might be. 

Still, she was very much looking forward to talking to this Nerussa, once she awoke, which would be very soon, if her instincts were correct, and Idgrod was confident they were.

***

_Aurelin dreamed, and used the Dream. She felt the Youngling’s Soul and pulled them together. They could not converse, as such, but she did her best to soothe the Youngling’s fear. The memories she had tried to bury, had allowed **them** to lock away, flooding back. _

_“I had no choice, Senna. I had **no choice** ” She felt what was inside the words, rather than hearing them. “I couldn’t let them know I recognised him.” Her granddaughter was sobbing, just as she had when she had been small, and Aurelin held her Soul close._

***

“Ah, and the dreamer returns… About time, too, your young man’s been getting jealous. What was it, Äelberon? A very old name, very old.”

“What? How did you know that name? I never told anyone…”

Idgrod looked at her, a little abashed.“Ah, don’t mind me, girl. You were talking in your sleep. Although I will admit I felt more of your dreams than the others heard. Vampires, eh? Nasty creatures, you’d think there would be vampires in Hjaalmarch, what with the weather, but there hasn’t been a confirmed vampire attack in many years.” The Jarl’s voice had become distant as she spoke of Vampires, but Nerussa couldn’t think straight enough to focus on that.

Nerussa looked around, assessing her surroundings. She might still be weak from the poison, but it didn’t take too much to work out she was in Highmoon Hall, probably in the Jarl’s own bedroom. The bed was certainly more comfortable than any she had slept in in Skyrim, except perhaps the one in Riverfall Lodge. Judging by the light filtering through the narrow windows, it must be around midday, given this was about as bright as the sunlight got in Morthal. She was about to ask another question, when an appallingly loud sound came from her stomach, and Idgrod informed her they’d had little success feeding her while she slept.

“Your Housecarl tried her best, but you’re strong for such a slender thing, aren’t ye? I’ll call her and the boys in in a moment, but my price for giving up my bed is that you hear me out, hm?”

Nerussa was too baffled to do anything but nod. Idgrod toyed with couching her advice in terms of a vision, and it was true she had experienced one, but she decided this one would be more receptive to plain talking.

“The older of the two men. Kaidan, is it? You’re afraid. No, it’s all right, I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. Perfectly natural. You’re so much older than he is, you’re the Dragonborn, blah, blah. It’s fine to be afraid, but don’t let it stop you. You were afraid of the vampires, weren’t you? Even a little afraid of him. Äelberon. But you didn’t let it stop you. He’s not Ondolemar. He’s not Thalmor. He’s a good man, and you need each other.”

“Oh, Oghma’s tits, don’t tell me I mentioned Ondolemar in my sleep as well?”

“Oh, no, don’t worry about that. Didn’t you hear, the Jarl’s a crazy woman, has visions and so forth? Well, that wasn’t strictly part of the vision, but his name’s tangled inside your fear. Visions are… not always straightforward. Anyway, that’s neither here nor there, the point is, I won’t push you to act on this right now, you probably need a while to get your strength up, anyway. But I want you to promise not to let the fear stop you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the previous two are based quite heavily on sections from the original version of this story, but modified to suit the characters that are involved this time around. I really loved writing Jarl Idgrod the first time, and I'm still pretty happy with those sections in particular, so I figure I could spend days glaring at the screen, trying to totally reinvent the wheel, or I could, well, not, and just cheat and edit the original!


	51. Chapter 51

_**27th Frostfall** _

Have been allowed a little time alone with my journal. Everyone is making such a fuss. Yes, I was obviously… Quite unwell, but I’m fine now. Bit wobbly in the legs, maybe. 

Hopefully that will have righted itself in another day or so, because I need to go to Riverwood and hope whichever bastard thinks it’s funny to go round substituting notes for ancient artefacts in supposedly impenetrable tombs is still there. Should have tucked the note inside here, but I was angry and the venom was starting to really set in, so I just shoved it in my pocket. Of course, that meant it got destroyed, between the venom and everyone tipping water all over me… Not that I begrudge them, you know, saving my life, or anything.

Thankfully, even with the venom starting to blur my vision - thank Auri-El these spiders’ venom didn’t act as quickly or share the paralytic effect of the one in Bleak Falls - the ‘code’ was easy enough to remember. “Ask for the attic room”! What rot. The Sleeping Giant doesn’t even have an attic, what kind of subterfuge is that. How someone that lacking in subtlety got to the final chamber of Ustengrav is, I’ll admit, somewhat intriguing, though. Obviously I wasn’t able to closely inspect the stone door I escaped through, but none of the others noticed any way of opening it from the outside, certainly.

I need to sleep, but the nightmares will start again. I suppose it must be some effect of coming so close to death? Something about the procedures must have been reversed. I had forgotten so much. Obviously that was, well, the whole point of submitting myself for Processing after the Symposium. Knowing what I did of the theory of their techniques, it wasn’t overly difficult to prepare myself before submission. Forget enough to keep myself safe. Keep him safe. But remember enough to do a little research now and again. Nothing conspicuous, just checking through old records when it was plausibly work-related.

Of course, it now seems like they probably knew more than I realised. Perhaps I wasn’t as careful as I thought, perhaps I was doomed from that night on. Promoted as long as I was of use - a shame to let my time at the Training Centre go to waste. Sixteen years is nothing to the Aldmeri Dominion…

The most important thing to remember, after Äelberon, is Grand Justiciar Vingalmo. I had to forget them myself. Couldn’t risk the Processors seeing any of what I had learned. Had to forget what O did, too, although thankfully we parted ways soon afterwards - he was shamed after his failures that night, while I was not important enough to carry much blame, and he resented that. The other details of that night were probably less crucial, I think, although one name is probably more likely to be important in Skyrim, if my understanding of the memories is correct. It did show up in my research once or twice, and the name sounds, well, not quite Nord, but close. Volkihar.

***

The door opened, and Nerussa packed away her journal, along with the pencil Lucien had lent her, reasoning it was less likely to leave the Jarl’s bedlinen covered in ink.

“Come to mollycoddle me, have you? I’m perfectly able to be left by myself, you know. I haven’t passed out at all today!”

Kaidan grinned, and settled into a chair which had apparently been brought into the room while she was unconscious. “Just thought I’d read in here for a while, there’s some sort of meeting happening in the main Hall, and I don’t fancy going over to the tavern if that bloody Lurbuk is trying to sing… Don’t mind, do you?”

She sighed. “Fine… What are you reading?”

He held up the book. “The Last Scabbard of Akrash. Started off a little slow, though the details of the smithing work were interesting enough, but it’s really started moving now.” 

“Would you mind reading a little aloud? I’ve tried reading, but all the words dance around the bloody page…”

Kaidan grimaced. “At what point in our travels have you seen me wandering around with a lute strapped to me back? Lucien’s the one who joined the Bards’ College!”

She looked around the Jarl’s chamber. “I don’t see Lucien here, do you?” She made a bit of a show of feeling faint and leaning back on the pillow, although in truth, it was only partly for show. “I’m just _so unwell_ , Kaidan, all I ask is…” she feigned a cough, unable to keep a small glint from her eyes, though she maintained as wretched a face as she could, “...a little distraction…”

He rolled his eyes, his lips twitching as he tried to maintain a look of annoyance. “Fine, fine, I suppose I’d better go back to the start, then…" He marked his place and opened the book at the first place, muttering as he did so, "gonna have me singing up and down the bloody dell one day…”


	52. Chapter 52

“I hear you’ve had Kaidan reading to you…” Lucien’s voice was all innocence, but something about the way he said it made her narrow her eyes at him. 

“Yes, The Last Scabbard of Akrash, it’s rather a good story, actually.” 

“Mm, lots of drama, romance, smithing, romance!” 

She scowled. “You said romance twice.” 

“I am quite sure I did not, I am always very particular with my words. Anyway, how are you feeling?” 

She was sitting on top of the covers, cross-legged, and she took a moment to consider before replying. “I think I feel rather well. Arm’s still a bit sore from the axe stuff, but legs don’t feel too bad. I think I’ve almost convinced Lydia to take me for a little walk around the town, soon…”

“Yes, she mentioned that. Well, you’re looking much brighter, which is a relief! Still planning to go and give the Secret Note-Leaver what-for tomorrow?” She nodded. “Wonderful. This should be fun! I wonder who it was...”

“I don’t know, I just hope for their sake they don’t try and extort me to get the horn back…” Lucien looked worried at that, but their conversation was cut short when Vigilance burst through the door, followed shortly by Lydia. 

“Come on, then, if you want to go for this walk, let’s get moving. Coming with, Lucien? The rain stopped. Mostly.”

Lucien shook his head, “no, terribly sorry but I’ve some important study to do. Bought a spell tome from the court wizard, Welling Blood. Bit gruesome, probably one to save for really nasty pieces of work.” 

After he left the room, Nerussa, Lydia and Vigilance made their way outside. Nerussa’s legs felt a bit creaky, but she managed to walk from one end of the town to the other and back a few times, and even Lydia seemed satisfied.

***

The journey to Whiterun was taken care of by the Jarl, who had hired the carriage from Katla’s Farm to take them as far as the Honingbrew Meadery. They continued on foot, and as they approached the bridge to Riverfall Lodge, they passed a lone Giant, herding a painted cow. He seemed peaceful enough, and even raised his club in what appeared to be a friendly greeting.

Lydia couldn’t stop talking about Nerussa’s “Jötunn” neighbour, and when they arrived in the village, she headed over to Alvor’s forge to trade, both materials and tales. Once she was finished and they were inside the tavern, Lucien made his way to the bar to order lunch for the three of them. Nerussa scanned the room quickly, saw no one out of the ordinary, nodded to herself, and approached the middle-aged Breton woman who ran the establishment.

“Is it strictly necessary that we keep up the cloak and dagger bit? I can say the key phrase if you’d like, but perhaps we could just have a friendly chat?”

The Breton glared up at her, and Nerussa thought perhaps she should have played along, but she really did not have either the time or patience for such nonsense.

“Fine, in that case, follow me, and shut the door behind you.” She slipped into the only room of the building that actually had a door, and waited. Once the door was shut, she introduced herself as Delphine, and began fiddling around in the back of a large, heavy wardrobe that stood against a side wall. Nerussa kept her distance, but moved so she could see into it. The back panel, as she’d suspected, looked to be made of a lighter wood, probably the local pine, and when it slid aside, it revealed a narrow set of stone steps, leading downwards. Delphine picked up a small lantern from the table beside the bed, lit it, and headed down the stairs, motioning for Nerussa to follow.

At the bottom, the stairs opened out on a small, stone-walled room. A sturdy chest and a weapon rack were against the nearest wall, alongside a training dummy and a pair of… yes, netch leather boots, almost certainly enchanted, and with an odd pattern etched into the cuff. Strange to see netch leather in mainland Skyrim, she thought. Something about them seemed oddly familiar, as though they’d been mentioned in a history lesson, or perhaps in a book she had read as a child.

The room also featured a smaller, more practical alchemy setup than the fancy tables on display in the palaces, and the cheap copies in taverns and alchemists’ stores. A table, much like the one in the bedroom, on which stood a well-cleaned alembic, with a mortar and pestle, a calcinator, and a retort carefully stowed in a wooden crate underneath. Next to the table was a bookcase, containing a number of rather tattered books, the spines illegible, at least from this side of the room, and several carefully-jarred and labelled alchemical ingredients, rather more exotic – and toxic - ones than those sold by Orgnar up at the bar.

The centre of the room was taken up with a large, wooden table, which Nerussa suspected was made from the original back panel of the wardrobe upstairs. On it was a large map of Skyrim, and several scraps of paper with notes on, the innkeeper hurriedly gathered together and stuffed into her apron pocket.

“Are those boots..?”

“Former property of an… unofficial Blades agent, yes. I take it you’ve figured out my allegiance?”

Nerussa hadn’t honestly taken the idea seriously until now, but she kept her face stony and shrugged. “So, what’s the point of the innkeeper act? I know being a Blade probably doesn’t pay well nowadays, but there are easier ways to earn a crust.”

“Thalmor spies are everywhere. Best to settle down, act like, if you are who they think you are, you gave that life up long ago. I’ve been in Riverwood seventeen years, the most they can accuse me of is an occasional trip into Whiterun for supplies. Sure, maybe once in a while I have a little chat with the Court Wizard, but Balgruuf’s court is very open, most of the hold’s citizens pop in for one reason or another at some point over the course of a year.”

“Right. Look, can you just hand over the artefact you stole, and get on with explaining what you want from me?”

Delphine paused for a moment, before handing over a surprisingly small horn, intricately inlaid with silver. “I didn’t go to all this trouble on a whim. I had to make sure you aren’t Thalmor.”

Nerussa laughed. “Because I’m Altmer, I take it? One of the workers at the mill is Bosmer, you know, I suppose you keep tabs on him, as well? You do, don’t you! Well, if it helps, I’m actually on the run from the Thalmor. I don’t think they’re happy about one of their own being Dragonborn.”

She hoped Delphine would take “one of their own” to mean “Altmer”, although now she’d said it, she realised the woman was paranoid enough to assume the truth. She rather wished she’d thought to use a small charm spell, but strangely, however she interpreted the phrase, Delphine seemed to relax, if only a very little.

“Look, I’m not your enemy. I’ve already handed over the horn; I’m actually trying to help you. Just… hear me out.”

“Go on.”

“As I said in my note, I’ve heard you might be Dragonborn. My… group has been searching for you, or someone like you, for a very long time.”

She took a breath, and peered up the stairwell behind Nerussa, who glanced over her shoulder to see Kaidan’s boots coming into view. She heard the panel slide closed, and her two warrior companions settled themselves on either side of the stairs. Delphine sighed, and pressed on.

“If you are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you any more, I need to make sure I can trust you.”

“And how do I know I can trust you?”

“If you don’t, you were a fool to walk in here in the first place.”

“Look, I know arrogance is a bit of an Altmer cliché, but I could very easily say the same of you, and you just admitted you don’t trust me. Even if my friends here hadn’t just come to join us, I’m reasonably confident that even without wanting to Shout in a small, enclosed space, I could handle you fairly easily. I’m a reasonably strong Illusion mage, and my Destruction really is coming along very nicely. I’ve also got this axe that Lydia made for me, and Lucien’s got excellent hearing, he’d be in here in a heartbeat if we needed him. Unless Orgnar and Embry are very well disguised elite mercenaries, I think the odds are in my favour. So, how about we dispense with the veiled threats, and you tell me what you want me to do. And preferably why you think I’d care whether or not you trust me.”

Delphine took a breath, and it was clear she had been practicing what came next.

“I took the horn, because I knew the Greybeards would send you to Ustengrav if they thought you were Dragonborn. They're nothing if not predictable. When you showed up here, I knew you were the one the Greybeards sent, and not some Thalmor plant. I am sure you know, whatever your allegiances, that the Blades and Thalmor are long-standing enemies. If my suspicions are correct, the Thalmor have something to do with the dragons returning. But that isn't important right now. What is important is that you might be Dragonborn. The Blades remember what most don't - that the Dragonborn is the ultimate dragonslayer. If you are Dragonborn, then you are the only living creature that can kill a dragon permanently by devouring its soul.” She paused, and looked at Nerussa. Her expression was hard to read. “Can you do it? Can you devour a dragon's soul?”

Nerussa stifled a shudder at the word “devour”. It had only happened twice, but it felt more like drowning in a stream of hot-cold light than anything so greedily intentional. “I absorbed power from the dragon that attacked the Watchtower at Whiterun when it died. That’s really all I can say.”

“I thought we were dispensing with play-acting? Look, reluctant hero or no, you either are or are not Dragonborn, and I’ll see for myself soon enough.”

“You said ‘kill a dragon permanently?’ What does that mean? The last dragons are long dead.”

"Dragons aren't just coming back, or at least, not most of them. They're coming back to life. The majority weren't gone somewhere for all these years. You’re right, they were dead, killed off a long time ago by my predecessors. Now something's happening to bring them back to life. And I need you to help me stop it."

“You both realise how daft this sounds, I take it?” Kaidan asked.

"Ha. A few years ago, I said almost the same thing to a colleague of mine. Well, it turned out he was right and I was wrong."

“You said not most of them. So, some have been alive all this time? How do you know that’s not the case with all of them?”

"Because I’ve visited their ancient burial mounds and found them empty,” she pointed at the map. Looking closer, a little calmer now, Nerussa recognised it as some kind of charcoal rubbing of the Dragonstone. Delphine watched her as she stared intently at the map, and nodded.

"Yes, I was there when you brought it to Farengar, but for a non-Illusionist, I’m quite skilled at not being seen, or at least, noticed. The Dragonstone was a map of ancient dragon burial sites. I've looked at which ones are now empty. The pattern is pretty clear. It seems to be spreading from the southeast, down in the Jeralls near Riften. The one at Kynesgrove is next if the pattern holds, and if I’m right, it will be tonight or tomorrow, so you showed up just in time. We're going to go there, and you're going to kill that dragon. If we succeed, I'll tell you anything else you want to know. I’ve already told you more than I intended to.”

Lydia stepped forward, and Nerussa heard her gauntlet move to rest on the hilt of her sword. “You’re in no position to be ordering the Thane of Whiterun around, thief!”

“It’s all right, Lydia. Let’s ignore the fact that Delphine, as a Blade, should surely have been joining in the fight against Mirmulnir, and would, had that been the case, already have observed my absorbing his soul. You were saying, weren’t you, about having expected more dragon fights by now? Well, now’s your chance, and you’ll be helping to protect the people of Kynesgrove. I’ll do this, Delphine, but on the condition that when I pass your test, you stop trying to manipulate me, and just ask for my help if you need it.” Delphine nodded, reluctantly. “Very well, then it sounds like we have a dragon to kill.”


	53. Chapter 53

“The absolute _nerve_ of the woman!” Nerussa was stomping around the Lodge, angrily stuffing potions into her vial belt, tucking gems and coins into small pouches sewn into the new set of robes she had bought from Fallion before leaving Morthal. She had shuddered a bit at the cost, but they didn’t have the irritating collar that her old robes had, and they should help her to keep casting significantly longer. The pouches had really sold her, though. She could carry more than enough coin for several days’ travel without an obvious target for any thief who wanted to try their luck. 

Nerussa had just dumped her pack, bedroll and all, on the floor of the kitchen when they got inside. Kaidan had gone to pick it up and she had spun round and hissed at him to leave it. Eventually she stomped back down the stairs, grabbed her pack irritably and went back upstairs to unpack at least most of it. 

Delphine had wanted to travel to Kynesgrove as a group, but Nerussa had been quite clear. The Blade had said tonight or tomorrow, and it was early afternoon - they could easily make the journey by sunset if they took the carriage. Nerussa was not going to run off to Kynesgrove, where there was a perfectly serviceable inn, with her camping gear, empty food jars, no potions to speak of, and whatever treasures she’d brought out of Ustengrav. She also had no intention of fighting a dragon with only three others. Delphine had balked at that, but admitted that killing the dragon single-handed wasn’t what she needed to see, so much as what happened once the creature was dead. 

There was also no sense in risking the life of, as Delphine had so rightly said, the only person around who could permanently kill a Dragon, not to mention her three companions, and potentially an entire village for the sake of bravado. This was, after all, only the third Dragon Nerussa had actually fought. So Lydia had been sent to Whiterun to drop off unnecessary gear, with a heavy coin purse, to hire some extra hands, preferably ones familiar with the bow, and with some elemental resistances.

Nerussa suddenly felt rather tired. The anger had mostly been burned through, but so had quite a lot of energy. She sat abruptly on the floor, and was immediately joined by a very pleased Vigilance. She put her arms around the dog’s neck and let out a very small sob, hoping neither of the men were in earshot. She was fine, she would be fine. She just sometimes needed a moment. Thankfully, both of them seemed to have understood, the few times she felt like this around them, or at least, they had been understanding, which was good enough. She reached into one of the pouches, and found a gemstone, placing it carefully beside her on the floor, and running her fingertips one by one over the surface.

_“...Vera, Nata, Ehca, Nosci...”_

“So, Delphine’s a Blade, eh?” Kaidan was crouching beside her, scratching Vigilance behind the ear, the side of his hand brushing against hers as he did. She nodded. He whistled, and continued making a fuss of the dog. “Wouldn’t mind picking her brain some time… Shall we get moving, or do you need a little while longer?” 

She took a deep breath. “No, we should head to the crossroads, Lydia should be there by now. Come on.” She moved to stand up, but Kaidan put his hand fully over hers, and met her gaze for a moment, then dropped his eyes.

“It’s all right if you don’t always feel strong, you know. We’re not just here to help you with the fights and that. You can lean on me, or Lucien, if you need to. You don’t have to hide away.”

“I’m still not really used to that idea. I haven’t… had a lot of friends before. Not like you. Either of you. I’m sure you can imagine how people I knew back home would have reacted to finding me like this.”

“Aye, and it makes my blood boil, to think on it. But you’re not in Summerset, any more. You’re here, with us.” 

She nodded, and got to her feet. “Thank you. Let’s get going.” He smiled and stood, giving Vigilance one last scratch.

***

Lydia still missed her steel armour sometimes, but she had to admit, this Elven gear really was a lot easier to run in. She inhaled the scent of the meadery as she passed, and was relieved that it wasn’t a muck-spreading day at Pelagia’s farm. She slowed down to enter the city, and made her way into the Huntsman, glad to see Jenassa wasn’t currently otherwise employed.

Growing up in Rorikstead, Lydia had been visiting Whiterun on market day since she was little, and Da always liked to visit Them Elves for a chat about hunting and new arrows when he had the money. Jenassa was sometimes there, dressed in a simple tunic and breeches, and sometimes gone, off on a job, usually keeping some fool adventurer safe, sometimes by herself. Lydia had seen her carefully maintained set of netch leather armour, greaves and cuirass on a mannequin in the Dark Elf’s own basement room, lovingly polished with a cream made up by Arcadia, a troll fat base, scented with lavender and mountain flowers. She arranged to meet Jenassa by the meadery, and headed to Jorrvaskr.

The rest of the money was for “two or three Companions, preferably archers, Nords or Dunmer.” That meant Aela, a red-haired Nord around Lydia’s age from somewhere in Falkreath hold. When she wasn’t on Companion business, she was usually roaming the plains with her bow. Lydia wouldn’t admit it under torture, but Aela was one of the few people she could think of who intimidated her. She might see if Farkas was about, he was easy to talk to. So, two more archers, that probably meant Athis, and maybe the other Dunmer, the one the Thane had brought to the Watchtower. Dunmer and Nord, that was important, because of their resistance to fire and frost. No way of knowing which the dragon would breathe, so a mix was good. Shame there weren’t any Breton Companions, really. Obviously the other Circle members were also Nords, but Lydia thought there was about enough left in the purse for one Circle member and two… what did they call the other Companions? Whelps. Better than what younglings new to the Guard were called, at least. Ria was an Imperial and Torvar was a stinking drunk. So, Athis, Llerethis (that was the name!) or maybe Njada, although she was more of a two-hander than an archer.

She pushed open the door to Jorrvaskr.


	54. Chapter 54

“No, you don’t want to go up there! Don’t you see the Dragon?”

Lucien put a reassuring hand on the innkeeper’s arm. “Has it attacked Kynesgrove? Is anyone hurt?” She glowed faintly green for a moment, and seemed to relax.

“Well… I don’t know, not yet? But it flew over the town, landed on the old Dragon mound…” 

“All right, madam, don’t worry, we can deal with the creature, you should hurry inside - we’ll check if any of the miners are in the camp and send them in to you, yes?” The woman looked a little confused, but nodded and headed into her tavern. Lydia quickly ran over to herd the people sleeping at the encampment outside the mine into the tavern - the mine itself might have been a better option, Nerussa thought, but at least in the tavern they stood some chance of relaxing at least a fraction.

The group continued up the hill, ten of them in total, including Delphine, who had arrived on foot just as they were disembarking the carriage at Windhelm, and Rumarin, who had been helping Arivanye with the horses.

“So, Kaidan, eh? And that’s Lydia. Quite the little group Nerussa’s found… Was she serious about this Dragon thing? I sort of got swept up in the excitement, not entirely sure I fancy fighting a Dragon...”

Nerussa couldn’t quite make out Kaidan’s response, he was rather less inclined to project his voice than the Mer was. She shook her head and looked to the sky ahead once more. They were nearing the crest of the hill, and there was now no mistaking it. That was the same Dragon that attacked Helgen. It was circling the area, almost as though it was… waiting for something. As they approached the Mound, Delphine ducked behind a rock, motioning to the others to join her. 

“I think he knows we’re here,” Nerussa said, and stood, arms folded, watching as the enormous dark shape hung in mid-air, slowly flapping its wings, as though that made any kind of sense to explain how it was hovering. She could see Lucien was having similar thoughts, judging by the mixture of fascination and annoyance on his face.

The Dragon spoke in its own Tongue. She couldn’t parse every word, but it seemed to speak a name, and the word ‘Dovah’ - Dragon - was definitely in there. She hazarded a guess that ‘ziil’ might mean ‘soul’. As she was reflecting on this, the creature Shouted. _Slen tiid vo_. As they watched, the surface of the Mound cracked, before erupting into the air as a skeletal Dragon emerged, crawling unpleasantly toward the black Dragon, its posture obsequious, supplicatory.

It was surrounded in a swirling array of light and what looked for a moment like embers, and as she watched, Nerussa realised it was a reversal of whatever happened to the corpses of the two Dragons they had fought, when she… absorbed their Souls. So, this Dragon’s Soul was being restored to it? She heard Lucien whisper “fascinating…” under his breath, and smiled a little.

_“Alduin, thuri!”_ Again, she couldn’t parse what came after that, but she got the sense of the supplicant Dragon’s first words. Alduin, the ‘world-eater’ of the Nordic pantheon. The _old_ Nordic pantheon, before they abandoned it for the Imperial Cult, and particularly the Cult of Tiber Septim. She and the others had speculated as to the possibility, but it was still chilling to have it confirmed. 

It didn’t take a linguist to guess that ‘ _thuri_ ’ was some kind of mark of respect, most likely along the lines of ‘my lord’ or ‘great one’. The two Dragons exchanged a few more words, before the great dark creature in the sky turned its face toward the group, its orange eyes burning into Nerussa’s own. It addressed her in the Dragon Tongue at first, then in Tamrielic. 

“You do not even know our Tongue, do you? Such _arrogance_ , to dare take for yourself the name of Dovah.” It turned back to the lesser Dragon. “Sahloknir, _krii daar joorre!_ ” The creature on the ground gazed almost worshipfully up at the great beast in the sky, watching as it flew away over the mountains. 

Sahloknir turned its attention, then, to the mortals in front of it. Its posture changed, the spine straighter, the forelegs and wings held in a more aggressive stance. Slowly at first, it began to flex and then flap its wings, before launching itself into the air. 

_"I am Sahloknir! Hear my Voice and despair!"_

__

__

Kaidan stepped forward, his war bow drawn. “Ready, Dragonborn?” She nodded, charging Lightning Bolt in the left hand, and her revised Sparks - significantly stronger than the original - in the right. 

The sun had been setting as they arrived at Windhelm. By now, it was almost pitch black. For a few minutes, they did without magical lighting, as it was quite a significant drain on her and Lucien’s magicka, but eventually it became obvious they would be at a huge disadvantage. The Imperial shot a ball of light forward, and it attached itself to the throat of the Dragon, just too low to bother its eyesight, sadly, and sure enough Nerussa caught a muttered “aim higher!” as she charged her Lightning Bolt a second time. 

Sahloknir, in spite of having been no more than bones in a burial mound minutes earlier, was clearly stronger than the first two Dragons they had fought. Frost spilled forth from its maw, hitting the red-haired woman from Jorrvaskr, who laughed, before nocking another arrow. 

“Think that a little cold will stop me, wyrm? Not seen what I’m wearing, huh?” 

*** 

The city bells were striking midnight as they climbed back down the hill. Delphine insisted on waiting until the rest of the group had gone inside the tavern before speaking to Nerussa, in spite of Kaidan’s firm objections to leaving the two of them alone together. 

“So, what can’t you say in front of my companions?” Nerussa looked down at the Breton woman, who tutted at her. 

“I already said too much in front of them, but you called my bluff before. I’ve survived as long as I have by being cautious, yes, even paranoid. But fine, I owe you some answers, don’t I?” She sighed, meeting Nerussa’s gaze firmly. “Go ahead. Whatever you want to know. Nothing held back.” 

“Fine. First question, doubt it will come as a surprise. What do you know about the return of the Dragons?” 

The Breton laughed, though with no amusement. “Not a damn thing. I was as surprised as you to see that big black Dragon when we arrived.” 

“Actually, I’d seen that one before, the one that flew off. Same Dragon that attacked Helgen.” Delphine’s eyes widened, before narrowing into a frown. 

“Damn it! We’re blundering around in the dark, here - we need to figure out who’s behind it all!” Nerussa restrained herself from raising an eyebrow. It seemed fairly obvious to her that _Alduin_ was the most likely culprit, but she suspected there would be no telling Delphine that. She was the sort of stubborn person who wouldn’t let go of an idea until it was proven absolutely wrong, no matter how convincingly you tried to explain that it was a waste of time. 

“So, what’s our next move?” 

“The Thalmor are our best lead. If they aren’t involved, they’ll know who is.” Nerussa couldn't help it that time, her eyebrows shot up. 

“What makes you think that?” She kept her voice as serious as possible, but really. She was under no illusions that she would have been aware of such a plan, but it was simply beyond the capabilities of, at the very least, any members of the Thalmor currently in Skyrim. _There may be one exception…_ the thought passed through her mind, almost casually. The Grand Justiciar, if he truly was here… Perhaps, though she thought it likely that even he would need assistance in such a matter. He had been rumoured to have had involvement in the Void Nights project, but still... 

Damn, she had missed Delphine’s reply, and the woman raised her own eyebrows. “Am I boring you? Who else benefits from it? The Empire had Ulfric, the war would have been over, and a Dragon just happens to show up? It can’t have been Ulfric’s doing, none of his allies have anything like that power. Ulfric escapes, the war’s back on, the Empire and Skyrim are both kept busy while the Dominion rebuilds its ranks, with the bonus of more Dragon attacks, building slowly to create more chaos and fear.” 

She had to admit there was almost some logic to that, and she could hardly explain why she knew enough to be pretty sure it was still wrong. 

“Very well, so what’s your plan?” 

Delphine smiled. “Glad you’re on board. We need access to the Thalmor Embassy, find some proof I’m right. Problem is, place is locked up tighter than a miser’s purse - they could teach me a few things about paranoia. If we could get you an invitation to one of the shindigs they throw there, though…” She stroked her chin, thoughtfully. 

Nerussa just stared. Was the woman serious? But what could she say? _“Actually, Delphine, I used to be one of them, and there’s a decent chance that even with my face and skin changed like they have been, someone would still recognise my voice. Perhaps that’s not the best idea?”_ Thankfully, Delphine didn’t seem to expect any further conversation, and instead turned on her heel, and began making her way back to Riverwood. 


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes some fairly non-specific discussions of less-than-great prior relationships, mainly in the last two multi-line paragraphs, if you want to avoid that kind of thing.

The following morning, the Whiterun group thanked Nerussa for footing the bill for their night at the tavern, and left in surprisingly high spirits, considering how much they had drunk. Rumarin hung around while they ate breakfast, and Nerussa had been about to ask if he wanted to come along with them for a while, when he stood abruptly, muttered something about being needed at the stables, and left. Nerussa looked at the others, a little bewildered, but they just shrugged, so she headed to the bar to pay the innkeeper. 

“I tell you what, I don’t feel right charging you the full amount, but I don’t suppose you’ll accept a lowered price, either. What if we say… two thirds of the normal price, and you take this package to the Velothi View for me? It’s quite valuable, and you did, you know, save our little settlement from that Dragon, I think it’s a fair deal.”

Nerussa agreed, and called Lucien over so Iddra could mark the other tavern on their map. They got their things - they hadn’t brought much, beside their camping gear, a change of clothing, and otherwise empty packs - and left the tavern, taking the road out of Kynesgrove, rather than cutting across the flats this time. 

Not long after Nerussa finished relaying her conversation with Delphine, they came across a Khajiit, covered in blood, by a destroyed cart, a dead horse, and the body of another Khajiit. She initially begged them for assistance meeting up with ‘her’ caravan outside Windhelm, but almost immediately drew a dagger and muttered something about “gullible travellers,” before launching herself at Nerussa’s throat, her breath cloyingly smoky-sweet, and sure enough, when she had been dealt with, they found an empty skooma vial and a battered pipe in her pocket, along with a note addressed to someone called Lajjan, disavowing any interest in further involvement with the bandit, whose name had been Tanita, it seemed. 

The proprietor of the Velothi View Inn thanked Nerussa profusely for the package, tucking it away safely and offering them all a cup of hot, sweet, snowberry and frost mirriam tea to drink with the meal they ordered. “It’ll keep you warm the rest of the way to Riften,” she said, as she poured it into four pottery mugs, adding a generous spoonful of honey to each. 

They thanked the woman, and sat for a while, sipping their teas and checking Lucien’s map.

“You know,” the innkeeper called across to them, “if you’re looking for adventure, we’re a stone’s throw from Ansilvund… Bound to be some treasure in there, I’m sure.”

Lucien took his map over to the counter, and she pointed out where to go - the map was starting to get crowded, and Lucien was being a little more judicious about adding markings, now. It was indeed a short walk, with only a couple of wolves to deal with before heading inside.

As they explored the twisting, easily missed passages through the cavern and into the ruin it connected to, a voice suddenly filled their heads. 

_“I am Lu'ah Al-Skaven. Who are you to disrupt my work? Begone, or I will add you to my army of the dead!”_

“Oh, _good,_ a necromancer. If there’s one thing I love more than caves, it’s caves with necromancers in them,” Lucien grumbled.

“Aye, and necromancers who can shove their voices in people’s heads. What other twisted experiments is she up to, this ‘work’ she speaks of?”

They continued further into the ruin, with occasional appearances by the disembodied voice, until finally they reached an imposing set of iron doors, which opened into a grand burial chamber, where the necromancer herself stood. 

“They burned his body before I could raise him - he should have been _returned to me!_ ”

She gestured dramatically, and two sarcophagi behind her burst open, a pair of Draugr stepping out, each glowing faintly violet. Some sort of Command-like spell, Nerussa supposed, but of the Conjuration school, and able to affect clearly powerful Draugr. 

“Focus on the human, not the Draugr,” she told her companions, as they entered the room. As she had suspected, when the necromancer - who was about as physically resilient as most mages - fell to the floor when the combination of Lucien’s newest spell and Kaidan’s blade struck her, the two Draugr collapsed to the floor like a pair of rag dolls, and as the group looked on, a violet mist rose from their bodies, gradually coalescing into two ghostly figures, pale blue, but otherwise quite human-looking. 

The woman’s spirit spoke first. “Thank you, for freeing us from her spell…” 

“Now we can rest in peace, once again. Come, Fjori, my love...”

“Take this, with our gratitude…” As the spirits faded from view, a curious, translucent blade appeared on the plinth behind them. It was very cold to the touch, but not quite painfully so. Definitely something to show Auryen, she thought.

They had found two copies of a book in the ruin, _Of Fjori and Holgeir_ , clearly relating to the couple whose remains the necromancer had tried to twist to her desires. Nerussa shuddered, and wrapped the book and blade carefully in her spare set of common clothes, placing the bundle in her pack. There was a not inconsiderable amount of treasure tucked away in the next room, presumably advanced necromancy (the kind where you actually did necromancy rather than just flinging fireballs in spooky black robes with a skull on them) was an expensive endeavour. 

***

The sun had already set when they left the ruin, and when they arrived at Riften, the guard at the gate glowered at them, barring them from entering the city. “There’s been rumours of vampire attacks, so the city gate’s locked at ten o’clock every night until further notice.”

They sighed and headed to the area past the stable where they had camped previously, setting up their tent and building a fire as quickly as possible. 

“We should eat something before we sleep,” said Kaidan, as he cut a loaf of bread in half, separating the top and bottom, and piling a selection of slices of cheese and cured meat inside, before placing the whole thing in the covered cooking pot, where he let it sit at the side of the campfire for a while, to warm through.

“So,” he said, casually, as he watched the flames licking the side of the pot. “Fjori and Holgeir, eh? Grew up hearing that story, never thought I’d actually… encounter them. Sad business, but they must’ve been happy, for a time.” He used the tip of his hunting knife to lift the lid of the pot a little. “Not quite ready. We’ve all been travelling together for a while. Maybe it’s time for one of _those_ fireside conversations. Anyone got their own stories of love and loss?” 

“Oh, good, the only thing I like more than caves with necromancers in them: awkward, personal conversations!” Lucien looked at the others. “Oh, fine, I suppose I’ll go first, then, shall I? No, that sort of thing has never really been high on my list of priorities. Perhaps some day, my parents are very happy together, and I wouldn’t rule out the idea, but I’ve never exactly thought much about it. What about you, Lydia?”

Lydia leaned back on her elbows. “Well, I had a fling with Jenassa a few years back. That was fun, but I don’t think either of us would have called it love. Other than that, I’m… not great with women. If there’s a woman I like, I get all flustered, and I can’t think what to say to her.” She looked around, seeing the others’ disbelieving looks. “What? Yes, I know, I’m Lydia, snarky, grumpy Lydia, more than happy to go toe to toe with a Dragon. But put a pretty girl in front of me, and I get tongue tied.” She shrugged, and looked pointedly at Nerussa.

“Um. Do you remember when we were in Markarth?” She rubbed the back of her neck, uneasily. “I had to go and speak to the Thalmor Justiciar in the Keep - like I told you, he was how I knew about Cyrelian’s presence in the Abandoned Prison. Well, for most of my forties I was… involved with him. It was… Expected? I don’t know. I wasn’t coerced, or anything, he was attractive... enough, he was reasonably pleasant company. But he wasn’t someone I would have particularly… chosen for myself, I suppose, if he hadn’t pursued me. It… ended badly.” Her voice had gone quiet, and she rather wished they’d brought Vigilance with them. The dog was back in Riverfall Lodge, likely being spoiled rotten by Hjoromir, the young man who had followed them from the Sleeping Giant, waiting outside until they left the Lodge to meet the carriage, when he offered his services as a housekeeper. She hoped that hadn’t been a bad choice. Oh, she was doing it again. They were looking at her.

“Sorry, I got a bit stuck in my head. Anyway, that was years ago. There hasn’t been anyone since, and there wasn’t really anyone before.”

Kaidan’s eyes met hers, searching her face as he spoke. “Whatever he did, you deserved better.”

She smiled, weakly. “Your turn, Kaidan. Have you ever been in love?”

“Thought I was, once or twice. When I was a little younger, and a lot stupider. There was a noble girl I was sweet on, as a lad. Think she got married off to some courtier in High Rock. Another lass, later on. She turned out to be… trouble.” His gaze met Nerussa’s again, and he didn’t look away. “Lust or infatuation, it might have been. But I wouldn’t call it love.” He looked away at last, and turned to the pot once more. This time, he seemed satisfied, and reached for the wooden plates, cutting the warm, melted-cheese-filled bread into four chunks and passing a plateful to each of his companions. It wasn’t a meal she could have imagined enjoying when she arrived in Skyrim, but somehow, it was perfect, even when she got warm grease on her hand, and the sleeve of her new robes.


	56. Chapter 56

“Welcome back, gel. I hear one of the ships out of Windhelm recently had a gaggle of new Altmer workers, hoping to pay their way out of Skyrim… And we’ve got a new colleague, I’m sure you passed his premises on the way in? Now, we wouldn’t want you getting bored, would we, so how’s about taking on another job?”

“Got anything on in Markarth?”

“I was hoping you’d say that… Here’s the details, now, go through to the Cistern, Brynjolf has been asking after you.”

She pocketed Delvin’s note, and headed for the nominally hidden passage through to the Cistern. Brynjolf was waiting nearby, talking to a skinny girl of around nine, who Nerussa vaguely recognised from the marketplace.

“Ah, Olette here told me she’d seen you, glad to see you, lass. Come on, Mercer Frey wants a word with you.”

Sure enough, the scrawny Breton Guildmaster stood in the centre of the room, hand on hip, practically tapping his foot as Nerussa approached.

“Finally, you’re here. I’ve been hearing impressive things about you, and I think it’s time to present you with a real challenge.”

Brynjolf interrupted, clearly not having been consulted beyond _“bring her to see me.”_

“Wait a minute, you’re not talking about Goldenglow, are you? Even our little Vex couldn’t get in to that place…”

Frey’s skeever-like eyes narrowed further, as he stared irritably up at the Nord. “You and Delvin claim this recruit possesses an aptitude for our line of work. If so, let her prove it.” He turned to Nerussa, and continued. “Goldenglow Estate is critically important to one of our largest clients. However, the owner has suddenly decided to take matters into his own hands and shut us out. He needs to be taught a lesson. Brynjolf will provide you with the details.” With that, he walked off, back to his desk, where he adopted a studiously ‘busy’ posture.

Nerussa turned her back on the Breton, and raised an eyebrow slightly at Brynjolf.

“Come on, we can talk in the Flagon, you’ll want a word with Vex, too, but I’d advise caution, she is _not_ going to be happy about her job being passed on to you.”

***

She left through the Cistern, taking a moment in the relative peace of the graveyard before heading back to the commotion of the city proper. She ducked into the Temple of Mara, and was relieved to find Dinya Balu inside, sitting on one of the benches as her husband arranged flowers on the altar.

“Ah, you return. News of your work has already reached us, of course!” She indicated the altar. “Love moves fast in these troubled times, and we are expecting the happy couple to arrive from Ivarstead later today. The wedding is at midday, if you would like to attend.”

“I would love to. Does Mara require more of me?”

“I see you are eager to carry the light. As you venture, Mara fills my mind ever more with visions of love in peril. Embers lie nestled in stone, needing only fuel to bloom to a flame that will warm all around them. Go to Markarth. There you'll find Calcelmo, wise, acid, and reclusive. Help him to emerge and state his intentions. This is the prayer heard by the goddess and relayed to her servants.”

Nerussa raised her eyebrows. _Calcelmo?_ She couldn’t quite imagine him with… designs on someone, and yet… She thanked the Priestess, and braced herself to leave the cool quiet of the Temple.

She found the others in the marketplace, and asked them to follow her out of the city, to a quiet spot by the lake. “I think there’s something I need to tell you all, and I’m sorry I’ve kept it from you.” She paused, looking around to be absolutely sure nobody else was within earshot. “When I arrived in Skyrim, I joined the Thieves’ Guild.”

Lucien looked as though he expected her to continue speaking, eventually prompting her with a “yes?”

She looked at Lucien. “You… know?”

He folded his arms. “Well, let me think. You go off for Mysterious Evening Walks, you come back looking vaguely guilty, every time we arrive in Riften you vanish for an hour or two and come back smelling… well, I wouldn’t like to say, but certainly less pleasant than you usually do. Kaidan, were there any other signs?”

Kaidan looked thoughtful. “Well, there’s the fact that you’ve got a lot better at sneaking than Lucien, here, when you’ve both spent about the same amount of time lurking around in ruins…”

“Oh.”

“I must admit, I am curious, what’s the appeal of skulking around into people’s homes, taking their belongings?” Lucien’s gaze was direct.

“I can’t really explain it. Actually, no, I can. It’s the first time since I started teaching myself Altmeris that I’ve found something I’m really good at, not because of some special power or whatever, just because I’ve worked to get better at it. Also, the Guild helped me a lot when I arrived here, half dead from running all the way from Helgen like a Scamp out of Oblivion. I know the Guild here has a bad reputation, but… I don’t think they’re bad people. Well, mostly.” For some reason, Mercer Frey’s voice flashed through her mind. “In other parts of Tamriel, they’re often quite benevolent, in their way, and I… oh, this is going to sound ridiculous, but I would sort of like to be part of steering the Skyrim Guild back onto that path?”

Lucien looked thoughtful, but Lydia was the one to speak up. 

“My Da told me stories of when he was young, the Guild used to be more like that. They’d protect the beggars in the cities, they had strong rules against thieving from poor people, that kind of thing. I mean, they were still thieves, but they had some sort of honour.”

“Yes, the Guild back home was said to be similar, although it’s hard to know how much of that was their own propaganda, as it were. So, Nerussa, is there any particular reason you’ve decided to come clean?”

“Actually… yes. I’ve been given a particular assignment, not a straightforward burglary, and, well, I thought you should know. It’s… a bit risky.”

Kaidan frowned. “How risky? As bad as Ustengrav?” 

“Oh, no, nothing like that. No, it’s more… sneak around a heavily guarded estate, looking for some proof of some un-sanctioned business dealings by a supposed associate of the Guild. And also set fire to some bees.”

“Bees?” Kaidan’s tone was deadpan. 

“Yes, it’s to ‘send a message’. Anyway, I’ll be gone for a few hours tomorrow evening, I’m sure I’ll be fine. I just thought you ought to know where I was.”

“I’m coming with you.”

“Kaidan, you are no sneak-thief, remember?”

“Fine, I won’t come into the place, but I’ll set up camp nearby, if you need me, you can signal with the war horn I gave you, right?”

She relented, and patted the horn at her belt. “Very well. So, you two can spend the night in the Bee and Barb, and we’ll camp by the lake, after my very successful heist. Agreed? Good. In the meantime, I’d like to head to Shor’s Stone, if that’s all right with everyone? I’m hoping that the guard have dealt with their spider infestation by now, but I’m feeling rather guilty for not having been able to offer to help when I was first there, and I think between the four of us, we could make short work of the place, if it’s still an issue.”

***

“Damn useless guards, what do you think? No, they haven’t cleared the place, bunch of milk drinkers. Impressed you came back, young lady, though I’d hardly recognise you in those fancy robes, and without that hood! Moving up in the world, eh?” Filnjar nodded approvingly at Nerussa, and the rest of the group. “Offer’s still there, though I’ve no more coin to my name than when you were first here, even a little less, as my smithy’s been the only thing keeping this village running, and we all still need about as much to eat as before. Can’t offer much, but if you do this, you’ll have our eternal thanks.”

Not long after their conversation, the four left the mine, Lucien very obviously itching to make a smart comment to the nearby guard, and returned to Filnjar. He clapped Kaidan delightedly on the back, and smiled at the group, before hurrying into his home for their payment. Nerussa might have refused to take it, but inside the mine Lydia had whispered to her that it would likely offend Filnjar if she did. “Just a little advice from a Nord, my Thane, if you were thinking of it.”

Pressing a handful of silver and gold coins into Nerussa’s palm, the broad-shouldered, balding man took her by the arm and escorted her over to a rather sad little campfire around which the three miners who hadn’t already given up and left the settlement sat. 

“Odfel, Sylgja, Grogmar! Wonderful news! These travellers have finally taken care of the spiders for us!” He looked pointedly at the guard by the entrance to the mine, who at least had the decency to look sheepish and turn away. 

The three looked astonished, but got to their feet and offered profusive thanks. Odfel and Sylgja were Nords, and Grogmar an Orc, who presented Nerussa with some kind of amulet. “If you ever need to speak to one of the Stronghold Orcs, show them this - it won’t grant you full access, only becoming Blood-Kin can do that, but they’ll at least offer you an audience.”

“Thank you, I’ll keep it safe.” The Orc gave a small nod. Nerussa noticed the Nord woman, Sylgja, was trying to speak to Lydia, who couldn’t seem to string two words together. Well, the miner was certainly quite pretty, in a tired sort of way. Nerussa joined their conversation, to Lydia’s obvious relief.

“Did I hear right, you have family at Darkwater Crossing? We’re heading that way, if there’s anything you’d like us to take to them?” Sylgja looked pleased, and headed into her shack, returning quickly with a small bundle.

“I was quite badly injured in the mine recently, I was fortunate that a priest of Mara was passing through, on his way to Dawnstar, of all places. Anyway, he did what he could, but it still hurts sometimes, and I can’t walk all the way to Darkwater to visit my parents yet. I’ve written them all these letters, it would mean a great deal to me if you could take them for me…” She handed the bundle to Lydia, a small smile on her lips. The Housecarl fumbled a little as she took the letters, and blushed bright red, putting them into her pack with great care.


	57. Chapter 57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nerussa's 'undergarments' in this chapter aren't the weird vanilla yellowish leather bikini thingy, I'm picturing something more along these lines https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrim/mods/98276 (In case that link ends up broken, basically think loose, knee-length bloomers and a simple lightweight camisole-like top.)

Nerussa thanked whichever god had just granted her the sheer blind luck that allowed her to swim around the islets where the Goldenglow Estate stood before her Invisibility wore off, and kept the mercenaries angrily trying to extinguish the three beehives she had set on fire, long enough for her to cast again and duck into a recess in the wall near the trapdoor Vex had told her to look for. She shivered, and cast the Foxskin spell she’d spent all morning learning. It was certainly a risk, going in only her undergarments, but she hadn’t been able to think of any way around it. There would inevitably be at least some swimming, and she could hardly see how she’d be able to sneak through the main building, her boots squelching, her clothes dripping water everywhere. At least what she had on would dry off fairly quickly. 

Finally, the commotion died down, and she decided to risk slipping through the trapdoor. Before long, she was outside once more.

Xarxes’ arse, she’d done it! She had decided against trying to pickpocket Aringoth - she would need to pay for some more lessons, she thought - but the bee figurine on his shelf had been too tempting to resist. She had charged her Invisibility spell in one hand, grabbed the statue as carefully as she could with the other, and cast the spell as the previous one broke. Aringoth had noticed nothing, and she had backed carefully out of the room. Right into one of the mercenaries.

Thankfully, he was momentarily too confused by the sight of a damp, half-naked She-Elf clutching a golden bee to do anything, which gave her just enough time to stuff the bee into her leather satchel, double-cast the spell again, and run for her life. The mercenaries yelled and grabbed at the air, but she was fast - thank whoever for all the running practice she’d been having - and dodged between them. Her footsteps were clearly audible, but this just added to the befuddlement of the hired thugs. She dove through an open door, left that way by yet more mercenaries, coming in from outside guard duty, and dashed back to her hiding spot.

She grabbed the stone she had spotted earlier and hefted it as far as she could out into the water, making a loud splash which drew the attention of the men running out of the door, as she cast Invisibility again.

To her immense relief, none of them saw the stone flying through the air, and evidently they all assumed the splash was her diving into the lake to swim away. A few of the men in hide armour dove in to follow her, but of course there was no trace of the mysterious naked (funny how quickly they agreed on _that_ detail, she thought) bee-thief, and she heard them talking among themselves as they gradually gave up interest and returned to their posts.

An hour or so passed, and the guard by the door sloped off to the bushes to relieve himself. She slipped inside the door - not even locked! - and swallowed her Invisibility potion. Tasted utterly revolting, but it was a quicker bet than casting, when you weren’t sure what you’d find on the other side of a door. The sole mercenary in the hallway was tying his boot as he entered, and saw nothing. She crept as quietly as she could past him, and down the stairs to the cellar. 

After a little persuasion, Vex had agreed to show her the plan of the place she had filched from the records room of the Keep, and they had agreed that if the safe wasn’t in Aringoth’s personal quarters, it was most likely in the furthest corner of the cellar. Pushing open the door as quietly as possible, she cast yet again, and moved through the dark space, passing a pair of grumbling off-duty guards, seemingly longer-standing employees of the Mer who owned the place. As she was supposed to be finding out what was going on, as much as actually stealing the deed, she paused to listen to their conversation.

It seemed that Aringoth had become increasingly paranoid of late, hiring ‘extra muscle’ - the guards were clearly bothered by the implication that they couldn’t keep the place safe, but mostly by the fact that the mercenaries were most likely being paid a lot more than them. She carried on, passing a group of men who seemed to be racing rats, all a little the worse for drink. Another mercenary was not-very-surreptitiously reading what looked a lot like a rather notorious third era play by one Crassius Curio, and by and large she had no real difficulty making her way to her target. Sure enough, the safe was in the very far corner of the cellar, mere pertans from a grate leading down into the same tunnels she had used to reach Aringoth’s room in the first place. 

The lock was reasonably challenging, but no worse than some of the more complex ones in the Cistern’s practice room, and she was able to open it without being heard by the man on the other side of the wall. She quickly swept the contents into her satchel, and carefully closed the safe, before sliding open the grate and dropping down, doing her best to land ‘loose and bent’, as Vex had grudgingly advised her. 

She dropped down, closing the grate above her as quietly as she could, and sure enough found herself on the ledge she had been unable to reach earlier when she’d investigated the sewer after setting the beehives ablaze. Senna had spent years trying to train her as an acrobat – the women in her family had apparently, in previous generations, prided themselves on their ability to leap nimbly about the place. Nerussa had always felt too sturdy compared to Senna, though – it was the Nord blood, she supposed - and even with all the training, she had never been very nimble. Still, even if she’d been able to get up to the ledge, opening the grate from below would have been a huge risk.

A few minutes later, she emerged into the dark, moonless night. She carefully became invisible once more, and climbed onto the wall that went over the bridge back to the lake’s shore. She dropped down, grinned, and sprinted across the bridge, back to the roadside. She moved carefully through the trees toward where she remembered the camp being, and was relieved not to find herself lost.

She remembered just in time that she was still very much in only her underwear - she wasn’t exactly indecent, but Kaidan had made it perfectly clear he saw her as a friend, and she did not want to make him uncomfortable, so she cast Invisibility one more time, moved behind one of the larger trees, and cleared her throat.

“You made it back then? I was a bit worried after all the commotion when you set the fire, and then the _other_ commotion a bit later.”

“Yes. Could you, um, pass me my clothes, please? It’s a bit cold, and I’m not wearing much. We can talk when I’m dressed.”

She peeked around the tree trunk, and she could have sworn Kaidan was blushing, just a little. He picked up the pile of her clothes, and held them out close to the tree. She reached out and took the clothes, swearing under her breath as her bare arm and shoulder became visible when she did. Kaidan turned quickly away, and she got dressed as quickly as she could, before sitting practically on top of the fire to warm up.

“Hey, don’t set yourself on fire! Get over here.” He gestured her over, and put his arm around her shoulder when she moved to sit next to him. She suddenly remembered when she’d decided the red eyes probably didn’t mean he was a vampire, because of the amount of heat coming off him.

“So, tell me about the Daring Heist, then?”


	58. Chapter 58

_“Lingrah krosis saraan Strundu'ul, voth nid balaan klov praan nau.”_

The collective Voice of the Greybeards filled the the space around her, shaking her very bones. She was buffeted around, but managed to stay on her feet.

_“Naal Thu'umu, mu ofan nii nu, Dovahkiin, naal suleyk do Kaan, naal suleyk do Shor, ahrk naal suleyk do Atmorasewuth.”_

She made a concerted effort to relax her body as much as she could. Focus on the words, trying to intuit their meanings. Kaan, that must be Kyne, coming just before Shor. Atmorasewuth… The Atmora part was obvious… ‘wuth’ could be ‘north’, or ‘ancient’, she supposed.

_“Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. Dahmaan daar rok.”_

_Ysmir?_ Thankfully, that seemed to be the end. She waited for Borri, Wulfgar and Einarth to leave, and approached Arngeir.

“Thank you, that was… Powerful. Would you mind explaining what you were saying?”

“We spoke the traditional words of greeting to a Dragonborn who has accepted our guidance. The same words were used to greet the young Talos, when he came to High Hrothgar, before he became the Emperor Tiber Septim. Yes, I see your trepidation. That comparison is no small matter for you, I understand.” 

She nodded, doing her best to smooth the emotion from her face. “But, would you mind explaining what the words meant?”

He smiled, not unkindly. “Ah, of course, Dragonborn. Forgive me, sometimes I forget you are not yet fluent in the Tongue, though I think that will come to you. Let me see, an approximate translation would be along the lines of, _Long has the Stormcrown languished, with no worthy brow to sit upon. By our breath we bestow it now to you in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and in the name of Atmora of Old. You are Ysmir now, the Dragon of the North, hearken to it._ "

She felt faint. _You are Ysmir._ She stammered thanks, and rushed to the door, slamming her body into it to get the damn thing open, falling onto the snow-dusted stone steps outside. She slumped against the doorframe, her breathing fast and shallow. She had hoped they wouldn’t have heard - her friends had waited outside this time, knowing it was likely there would be some kind of ceremony involving the Greybeards’ Voice - but a shadow fell over her. She couldn’t move, but she recognised Lucien’s robes before he crouched down in front of her. 

“I won’t try to make you speak, Nerussa, but I’m going to bring you an extra cloak, and your waterskin. Is that all right?” 

She nodded weakly. He vanished for a moment, coming back and laying the fur across her knees, the waterskin placed just within reach. “We’re just over there, I don’t think you should stay here too long, Kaidan used some _very_ colourful language to describe the weather, but you need a minute, don’t you?” He left without expecting an answer, and she vaguely hoped she would remember to thank him, later.

She pushed away the name, the spiraling thoughts, forced herself to count, realised she had counted far further than usual. Took the slowest breath she could manage. Ran her fingers through the soft fur cloak - Kaidan’s, she thought, remembering his arm around her the night before, a little guiltily. Once or twice, as they had talked, she had hoped… Well, anyway. She sighed, reached for the waterskin, felt the ice that had begun to form inside, rattling around. Opened it, focusing on the grain of the leather, the feel of the stitches, the taste of the water, the smell of the fur as she lifted her knees up to hug them with her free hand. Sound, she needed a sound to focus on. The campfire’s soft crackling, just at the edge of her hearing. 

Slowly, she came back to herself. She would discuss the implications with the others later, but now they needed to start down the mountain, it would be bad to still be on the Seven Thousand Steps after sunset, she thought. Too easy to stumble. She started to get to her feet, and suddenly Kaidan was there, taking the fur and the waterskin so her hands were free, mercifully not trying to help her directly. That would have been far too much, she was still feeling… jolty. She was fairly sure that wasn’t a word, but it made enough sense for her current state of mind. 

Around halfway down the mountain, she felt able to speak again. “They’ve taught me the final Word of Unrelenting Force. I must admit, I’m curious to try the full thing.” 

Kaidan looked over his shoulder at her. “Not up this bloody mountain, I hope?”

“Oh, I don’t mean _on you!_ Maybe the next Draugr we come across…” He grinned and turned back in the direction he was walking, to her relief.

“Never know, Dragonborn, it might be fun! Although yes, perhaps not until we know what it does, for all we know the third Word makes it set people on fire…”


	59. Chapter 59

As they crossed the bridge back to Ivarstead, they were greeted by a cheerful, vaguely familiar young man with a satchel. “Ah! They said you’d probably be coming this way soon. Got something for you, your eyes only!” He handed her a note on rather fancy paper, and turned to Lucien. “And one for you! Sorry, nothing for the other two.” He smiled, handed Lucien his note, and strolled off down the path which they had learned led around the North side of the mountain. 

Inside the tavern, they ordered bowls of stew and looked at the notes.

_Dear Apprentices,_

_You are invited to an unprecedented opportunity to visit the College’s excavation at the newly uncovered ruin of Saarthal. Please do not share the location with all and sundry. You will be permitted to bring one mercenary or other hired muscle to accompany you to the site, who will be allowed inside only at the approval of Master Tolfdir. The map below shows a proven route from the College, it is inadvisable to attempt to find the location from other directions, as the mountains can be quite treacherous. You are expected to take normal precautions and watch out for bandits and wildlife along the route._

“ _Saarthal?_ The first city established by Men in Tamriel? I can’t believe they actually found it…” Kaidan looked almost impressed.

“Want to come along, do you?”

He shrugged. “I suppose you’ll need someone to watch your back while you’re, what, studying rocks and rifling through bones? Says right there, ‘hired muscle.’ Doesn’t say I have to be _currently_ hired, or who by. Could be a lot of Draugr down in that ruin.”

“True, and I can’t imagine Ancano will be there. Fair enough. Lydia, do you want to come, or would you rather head back to Riverfall for a few days? Make sure Hjoromir hasn’t run off with my dog and the Blade of Whiterun?”

Lydia laughed, and said she would go where she was needed, but a few days at Riverfall would suit her fine.

***

“Feeling any better?” Nerussa and Lucien had stayed up later than the others, each having a spell to study. He sipped his canis root tea, and waited for a response.

“A little. Can we… Would you mind coming outside to talk for a while? I don’t necessarily want to be overheard.” Lucien raised his eyebrows a little, but nodded and stood.

Outside the tavern, they walked to Shroud Hearth Barrow, on the outskirts of the village. The innkeeper had warned them to stay far away from the place, which made it a good bet for somewhere they wouldn’t be disturbed. 

“All right, what’s this about?”

It all came pouring out of her. The Greybeards’ greeting, the parallels to Talos, the mention of Ysmir. The absolute terror that had struck her when Arngeir had said those words. “ _You are Ysmir now._ Do you understand what that means? As an _Altmer_?”

He looked puzzled for a moment, until realisation dawned. 

“Yes. The Doom Drum, do you know that name? Ysmir, Talos, both… aspects of the Doom Drum, supposedly. And even if they weren’t, even if that doesn’t mean _I_ am, do you know what Tiber Septim used Ysmir Wulfharth to do to my people? Do you understand the horror of the Numidium? Walk-Brass, an immense constructed _god_ , Ysmir’s heart ripped out to power it, sent to slaughter my people until they surrendered to the man creating _your Empire_... I’m sorry. I… I know to humans, six hundred or so years is forever. But my Senna is two hundred and fifty years old. I’ve met Altmer who _were there._

"I'm not trying to say it was… I don't know, uniquely evil. Tamriel's history contains many, many evils. And I'm certainly not denying that my people have done terrible things. Sometimes to each other. _Often_ to each other." As she spoke, she briefly saw the doors to the Lecture Hall, flashes of red through the crystal doors, smelled the charred flesh and smoke in the lobby where the young nobles had sheltered, understood the true purpose of the Symposium.

She sighed. "None of this matters. I'm sorry for my words, my tone. I don't understand, is the truth of it. I don't understand, and I _need_ to understand, and I'm _scared_." 

Lucien looked at her, his dark blue eyes soft. "Just as well you've got a scholar for a friend, then, isn't it? Nothing I like more than solving a mystery."

"You're about to start singing 'Detective Lucien,' aren't you?"

"I think it's a tad late to be singing in the street, sadly! Either way, we should definitely make a move back to the tavern, come on, you need rest."


	60. Chapter 60

“Thanks for your advice about Goldenglow, Vex. I’ve been meaning to ask you - do you think this is worth anything?” Nerussa checked nobody was looking over at the alcove where they stood, and pulled the ornate golden case out of the pouch on her belt. She opened it, and Vex’s eyebrow raised.

“Been a while since I’ve seen one of those. That’s one of the Stones of Barenziah. Not worth much by itself, but if you could complete the set, and track down the ceremonial crown they were prised off… Yeah, that might be worth having. There’s supposed to be twenty-four in all, but good luck finding them.”

“I’ve already found four. I suppose I must be lucky!” Vex looked her with something that was starting to resemble respect.

“It seems like maybe you are…” 

***

Brynjolf had been waiting for her in the Cistern, before she met with Vex. He was impressed, and frustrated, when he opened the papers she had brought, and said he’d have to discuss them with Mercer. She was to meet with Maven Black-Briar - the haughty Nord woman who’d dismissed the missive as ‘kindling’, Nerussa was fairly sure - immediately about a ‘special job’.

Upstairs in the Bee and Barb, Nerussa found Maven, sitting rather rigidly at the corner table, hands on her knees. She looked Nerussa up and down, doubtfully. “So, you’re the one? Hm. Don’t look that impressive. Didn’t you give me some drivel about Mara a while ago? I do hope that was just a cover.”

“How about we skip the ‘polite conversation’, how can I help you?”

The woman’s sneer relaxed, just a tiny amount. “You’re a firebrand, aren’t you? It’s about time Brynjolf sent me someone with a bit of business sense, I was starting to think he was running some sort of beggars’ guild over there…”

“I take it you don’t have much faith in the Guild?” 

Maven barked out a laugh. “Faith? I don’t have faith in anyone, my girl. All I care about is cause and effect. Was the job done, and was it done _correctly_? No grey areas.”

“Right. Where do you need me to go?”

“The Bannered Mare in Whiterun. Look for Mallus Maccius, he’ll fill you in on the details. Best you leave it a few days, though. I don’t want to risk anyone noticing you just arrived from Riften, but you seem an industrious sort, I’m sure you can find something to do in the meantime.”

***

After an uneventful carriage ride north, Nerussa, Lucien and Kaidan spent a quiet night in the Frozen Hearth, waking early and setting off on what a bright-eyed Lucien insisted on calling their Expedition.

The road to Saarthal wound around an expanse of blinding white - they initially tried cutting across, but quickly realised there were some dangerously deep snow drifts in the un-paved areas, and kept to the path after that. They were attacked by a few wolves, and a frost troll, but otherwise the journey was uneventful, punctuated by Lucien’s singing, and Kaidan’s indignant response when he realised Lucien was singing about him, but hadn’t even come up with an original tune. 

“If you’re going to sing about me, I want me own tune, not Ragnar the bloody Red.”

“It’s a deal. You drive a hard bargain, sir.”

Finally, they reached the site. Hastily-erected scaffolding surrounded most of the visible parts of the structures, and an assortment of labourers and College staff were getting in one another’s way as the former tried to continue the work of unearthing the ruin, while the latter begged them to be careful. A pair of Storm Atronachs patrolled the area, crackling menacingly at them as they passed, but not actively preventing them.

They spent the morning in the larger of the two main structures, which had clearly been the residential part of the city. The space was divided into a number of individual dwellings, seemingly constructed by first carving into the rock and then building up walls. Lucien noted that the bricks did not seem to all be of the same stone as the mountain itself, being of a somewhat paler, smoother rock.

After a break for a brief lunch, they were assigned individual tasks inside the smaller structure, whose purpose had not yet been ascertained for certain. Lucien and Nerussa were both sent to find Arniel Gane, an older, Breton member of the faculty, who asked Lucien to help him with some cataloguing, while Nerussa was sent to check a nearby chamber for “anything interesting.” She came across a number of rings, all bearing a minor enchantment of some kind - vitality, she thought - before she and Kaidan moved into an alcove in the far corner of the room, where a curious, elaborately carved indentation held some kind of amulet. Nerussa, without really thinking, reached to pick it up, realising only too late that she should have checked the area for tell-tale signs of traps.

Sure enough, she and Kaidan found themselves stuck in the alcove, behind a set of extremely solid metal bars which had sprung from the floor, making Nerussa jump to avoid being speared by them. For a few moments, they just stared at one another, Nerussa trying not to notice quite how close Kaidan’s face was to her own, before they heard a concerned voice nearby.

“What in the world happened?” Tolfdir approached the bars, looking curiously up toward the ceiling, then between Nerussa and Kaidan to the indentation. 

“I picked this up,” she said, lifting her hand and letting the amulet dangle, trying not to sound too defensive.

“Hm, interesting, perhaps you could try putting it on? Ah, yes, look - see that? There’s some kind of resonance between you and the panel. I would suggest trying to cast something on it, but mind you don’t hurt your young man, here.” 

Hoping the pinkness she could feel at the tips of her ears and on her cheeks would be put down to her feeling foolish about getting her and Kaidan trapped, Nerussa very carefully charged her Flames, as weakly as she could, lightly brushing the surface of the stone. Thankfully, it was enough, and the stone wall facing them crumbled. 

Until that point, she had assumed the idea was that anyone who tried to steal the amulet would be trapped, and could be dealt with at leisure. The rather gaping flaw in that theory, though, was the, well, gaping hole before her. The iron bars clanked back into their hiding place, and she peered down the tunnel that had just been opened up. She heard Lucien and Arniel behind her as well, and in spite of his colleague’s protests, Tolfdir led the two students and their ‘hired muscle’ into the tunnel, occasionally muttering about how ‘fascinating’ and ‘marvellous’ some detail of the carving was. 

After some time, the tunnel opened onto a small chamber, with an altar at the centre, and sarcophagi on the other three sides. As they moved into the space, she realised Tolfdir and her companions had… stopped. Not just stopped walking. They appeared to be… paused, Lucien’s left foot lifted off the floor to take his next step, Kaidan’s hair frozen, mid-swish. She moved between them as carefully as she could, although something told her she could not have pushed them if she tried. The light in the chamber was strange, blue and grey replacing the murky grey-brown of the rock, and as her eyes adjusted she realised there was another living person there, on the far side of the altar.

_Hold, mage, and listen well... Know that you have set in motion a chain of events that cannot be stopped. Judgment has not been passed, as you had no way of knowing. Judgment will be passed on your actions to come, and how you deal with the dangers ahead of you. This warning is passed to you because the Psijic Order believes in you. You, mage, and you alone, have the potential to prevent disaster. Take great care, and know that the Order is watching._

She was not surprised to observe that the figure’s words entirely bypassed her ears, landing directly in her mind. No, all her surprise was squarely reserved for the fact that _a member of the Psijic Order was addressing her._ Before she could say anything, or even decide whether the robed Mer was physically present or a projection, he vanished into thin air, and the world started moving again, colours returning to normal. 

Tolfdir looked puzzled, and asked if something had happened. She brushed him off, unsure if she should mention the Psijic or not, and erring on the side of caution. She was actually rather relieved when the sarcophagi burst open for the usual Draugr ambush, as it seemed to make the whole conversation fly out of Tolfdir’s head. The central sarcophagus turned out to be concealing a gateway through to a much larger chamber, with more Draugr to fight.

After they had amassed a small pile of fallen Draugr around them, Tolfdir moved to stand on the bridge in the centre of the chamber. He stared up into the blackness, and muttered, “would you look at that? I’ve never seen so many coffins…” At first she thought he was referring to the ring of twenty or so sarcophagi around the perimeter of the chamber, but as she followed his gaze, the old wizard shot a ball of Magelight upwards. It floated higher, and higher, eventually sticking to what must have been the ceiling, a boggling distance above them, surely right up to the very top of the mountain Saarthal was built into.

And as it climbed, its light had fallen on row, after row, after row of sarcophagi, an impossible-seeming number of them, and with growing horror, she looked through the grate below and saw there were at least half a dozen rows below their feet. Tolfdir urged the others to press on while he remained in the chamber, making notes on the extraordinary nature of it, and so they pulled on the chains on either side of the gate which had sealed as they entered, and pushed open the iron door behind it, deeper into Saarthal’s immense Hall of the Dead.


	61. Chapter 61

After what felt like several hours, and an exhausting battle with a large, nigh-unstoppable Draugr in some kind of chapel-like room, Tolfdir finally caught up to them. They passed through a small, heavily trapped hallway, and onto a balcony overlooking a large chamber, dominated by a four-pillared structure, inside which was an orb of rock or metal, easily twice Kaidan’s height. It was covered in some kind of markings, and surrounded by an eerie blue-green light.

As they stood, staring, Nerussa’s attention was drawn by a movement in front of the Orb. A creature, seated in a throne, facing a cluttered altar - for a moment, it reminded her incongruously of Saltar at his desk - had begun to rise from its place. Much like Olaf One-Eye, the thing before them was not precisely a Draugr, she thought, or at least, it did not appear the same as most of those creatures. 

Kaidan was already halfway down the steps toward the creature, as the three mages charged their spells. It flung Ice Spikes at the swordsman, who staggered slightly, then continued his approach. The four of them assaulted the creature for some minutes, but gradually realised it appeared utterly unaffected by their attacks. Tolfdir approached the Orb, and for a few moments simply stared at it. He charged a spell in both hands, adopting the complex pose required for a Master Spell, and targeted the Orb. 

Sure enough, Lucien’s next burst of Sun Fire caught the creature by surprise, and Kaidan’s silver greatsword finally bit into its arm on his next strike. The creature backed away, just far enough that Nerussa could safely unleash her full Unrelenting Force on it without hitting her friends, and she had to stifle a giggle as the creature was launched into the air, landing thirty or forty pertans away.

"Bloody Hell. Yeah, you're _not_ using the full version of that Shout on me..." 

Tolfdir’s spell, whatever it was, didn’t last long enough to defeat the thing, but it was certainly weakened when its invulnerability was restored while the Alterationist got ready to cast again. Nerussa and Lucien alternated between running and casting their Ward spells, while Kaidan blocked blows from the thing’s axe. As Tolfdir cast once more, Lucien clambered nimbly onto the altar, snatching up a dull silver staff with a dragon’s head carved into one end. 

Nerussa aimed her Fire Bolt as carefully as she could so as not to hit Kaidan, as Lucien sent another blast of Sun Fire with one hand, zapping the creature from its own staff with the other. Kaidan took the killing blow, spinning toward the thing with the greatsword dancing around his head, the final motion pouring the full force of his strength into the neck of the thing before him, decapitating it neatly just as the spell wore off again.

As Tolfdir and Lucien examined the Orb as closely as they dared, Nerussa looked through the… grave goods, she supposed, of the not-Draugr. A curious amulet, carved bone and - she shuddered a little - teeth, secured to what she hoped was simply a hide lacing fell to the floor near the body. On the altar, she found a piece of paper, still in inexplicably good condition, bearing the words

_Be bound here, Jyrik, murderer, betrayer  
Condemned by your crimes against realm and lord.  
May your name and your deeds be forgotten forever  
And the charm which you bear be sealed by our ward._

Kaidan stood behind her, looking over her shoulder to read the page. “Hm. Hope we haven’t unleashed something terrible today. That name, though. _Jyrik_ … Lucien, does the name ‘Jyrik’ mean anything to you?”

The Imperial tore himself reluctantly away from the Orb, and came to look. “Oh, yes, it does. Let’s see… Yes, I believe I read that name in the book _Lost Legends_ when I was preparing for my expedition. One of the three sons of Archmagus Gauldur, I believe. I suspect that explains his strange appearance - he wasn’t turned into a Draugr in the usual manner, I would hypothesise. Most likely he was entombed here alive, and kept in an almost lich-like form, either by the amulet and the Writ, or perhaps the influence of…” He turned back toward the Orb.

Nerussa and Kaidan exchanged worried glances. “Come on, friend, let’s get back to Winterhold,” Kaidan muttered, putting his hand on Lucien’s shoulder, and guiding him to the far side of the chamber where an iron door was just visible. Nerussa assured Tolfdir that they would inform the Arch-Mage immediately, and followed them through the door. She barely even noticed the Word Wall in the cave-like room beyond the door initially, but Lucien seemed much more himself with a few pertans of iron between himself and the Orb, and she stopped to examine the Wall while Kaidan spoke quietly to the younger man.

_**IIZ** _

As the Word flowed into her, she realised she already understood it. Grabbing her journal from her pack, she turned to the list of Words she hadn't yet found translations for, and she understood them, as well - she wasn't merely able to translate them, she knew what they meant. Not on the deep level of understanding required to use a Word in a Shout, but in the way she understood Tamrielic, or Altmeris - she might be self-taught in the latter, but she was damn near fluent. She'd taught herself a number of other languages over the years but still generally needed to translate as she read, but this was... Fascinating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is as good a place as any to put this, I think. In my mind, the in-game books are sort of "sketches" of much longer, more detailed books which would exist in-universe. So, the Lost Legends we see in the game doesn't mention Jyrik and his brothers by name, but the version Lucien read probably had several chapters on each of them.


	62. Chapter 62

Savos Aren had seemed supremely uninterested in their brief report from Saarthal, thanking them for informing him and suggesting they carry on their studies for the time being. They spent the night and the following day at the College - more training and spell tomes emptied most of Nerussa’s purse, but she was regularly replenishing it and anticipated a decent pay off for Maven’s job in Whiterun, so she wasn’t too worried.

They spent the following night in the tavern, waking early to make a start to Markarth. A ferry and a carriage ride later, they were standing by the white stone steps of the city. Banning, the man who had sold Vigilance to Nerussa, had another dog, it seemed. A husky with sad, blue eyes. Nerussa couldn’t help noticing he changed the subject when she asked where he’d got the dog, but she supposed it was none of her business. She scratched the dog behind his ear, and headed up the steps. 

Inside the city, she left the men in the marketplace to get a bit of trading done, relieved to find she no longer needed to go out of her way not to get drawn into conversation by the man outside the abandoned house. 

She entered the Keep and approached her old tutor cautiously. She was entirely unsure what to expect when she took him aside and said she was there at the behest of a Priestess of Mara, but his face flooded with relief, and he briefly clasped her hands before speaking.

“I was beginning to lose faith that help would come! Though I never would have expected it would be you - yes, of course I recognise your voice, youngling, and no, do not worry, I shall not ask prying questions… As to the reason you are here… You see, I have been, eh, thinking about Faleen, quite a bit. Do you know her?” Nerussa shook her head. “Suffice it to say, she is resplendent, yet not without resolve. Striking, in all senses of the word.” His eyes were quite dreamy as he spoke, something she could never have imagined she’d see on his centuries-old face. 

“The trouble is, I cannot seem to speak around her. My mouth goes dry, and I start to shake - oh, do not laugh, youngling! Back home, well, in my time we did not have the Marriage Pool, at least, but there were still formal rules for courtship, expected procedures. We did not need to… navigate these waters without so much as a sextant. I could never hope to approach her.”

She considered the problem for a moment. “Perhaps all you need is something to talk about? You could impress her with your knowledge of the previous occupants of the city she calls home?”

“Oh, yes, very romantic, some old codger delivering a lecture on even older codgers…” He sighed. “You see, I know her a little, from events and so on, but I have no idea what sorts of things interest her. I could so easily offend her by bringing up the wrong subject. I have seen it happen before…”

“Calcelmo, do you think you could be overthinking this, just a touch?”

The old Mer laughed, a little hollowly. “That is the curse of our people, is it not? I am sure you have experienced similar… Ah, that blush tells me perhaps you are experiencing something alike even now? I shall not pry, although if you ever wish to explain any of these intrigues, I would be quite pleased to listen.” He sighed again. “Ah, but you see, she is volatile as a sabre cat. One wrong word and I have seen her turn on a fellow so quickly.”

“In that case, is there anyone who might know more about what she likes? A friend, perhaps?”

“I suppose you could speak to Yngvar. He is… rather popular with the ladies. Thankfully, Faleen is not exactly the type he goes for, but they have been friends for some time. Perhaps he would know something… Youngling, would you do this favour for me, and ask him what she likes? It may be my only hope.”

She agreed more than readily, and set off to find the Nord. Calcelmo had suggested she try the Treasury House, near the Keep, and sure enough, she found the burly mercenary standing guard outside, arms folded across his chest.

“Are you Yngvar the Singer? Wonderful. I have a question, if you don’t mind - I’ve heard you may know something about the likes and dislikes of Faleen, up at the Keep?”

He raised an eyebrow, looking her up and down. “You interested in her or something? No offence, but I don’t think she swings that way.”

“Oh, no, it’s… Actually, can you keep a secret? It’s for Calcelmo.”

His other eyebrow rose to join the first. “ _Calcelmo?_ Is he interested in Faleen, then? That sly old codger, I should have guessed! Good for him. Her, too. Between you and me, she could use a bit of _warmth._ As for what she might like…” He looked slyly around, making sure nobody was listening. “You didn’t hear this from me, she would kill me. Maybe literally. Faleen’s tough as nails, but she’s also got a soft spot for poetry, of all things. You know, I took some classes at the Bards’ College as a youth. Poems can come in handy for… wooing. Got a poem that’s stood me in good stead with a few more refined ladies, I could rewrite it to be about Faleen, if you’ve got a little gold.”

Nerussa passed him a few gold coins, from the look on his face, maybe slightly more than he expected. “Wonderful, just give me a few minutes - when I’m done, you should probably just take it directly to Faleen, wouldn’t want the old icebrain stumbling over the words!” Her own eyebrow raised, but the mercenary was already intently writing out the poem, having produced a quill and paper seemingly from nowhere. She took the page and returned to the Keep.

Approaching the throne, her way was barred by a handsome Redguard woman of around forty. “State your business, Elf, if you wish to approach the Mournful Throne.”

“In fact, I was hoping for a word with you, perhaps in private?”

“Don’t swing that way, She-Elf.” 

Good grief, was this how Lucien felt every time he interacted with someone new, and they for some reason thought he was flirting? She straightened her back. “Actually, I have a personal message from another.”

The woman narrowed her eyes, then looked to her employer, who waved a hand and nodded. She took Nerussa into a small, sparsely decorated bedroom, and crossed her arms expectantly. “Well?”

Nerussa decided not to try and pass the poem off as Calcelmo’s own work. It was actually quite moving, in a rough, Nord way, but it was simply not something any Altmer would have come out with, let alone Calcelmo. The worst thing would be to start things off with a lie, she thought.

“What do you think of Calcelmo?” 

“Think of him? He’s an odd little Mer, always poking around the ruins, and wasting time in that museum of his. Seems friendly enough, though. Obviously intelligent. Why do you ask?”

“He has feelings for you.” 

The Redguard woman laughed. “What? You’re out of your mind! That old coot’s more interested in dead dwarves than anybody around here! Don’t talk rot.” Still, Nerussa noticed what she thought might be just a trace of wistfulness in Faleen’s eyes.

“Calcelmo asked me to commission a poem for you. He is, as you’ve probably gathered, no poet - our culture has very rigid standards of meter and rhyme scheme, and it can be rather intimidating. But he wanted some way to express what he felt. Please, just read it.” She pressed the page into the woman’s hand, and went to wait outside the room. 

A short while later, Faleen spoke, rather more gently than before. “Elf, get back in here.” She was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the paper, and when she looked up, there were tears in her eyes.

“This is… lovely. I recognise my friend Yngvar’s handwriting, of course. Do you honestly think this is a true reflection of Calcelmo’s feelings for me?”

Nerussa considered her words carefully. “My people do not always have the chance to experience real love, but when we do, we love deeply, and patiently. Yes, I believe this reflects what I saw in Calcelmo’s eyes when he spoke of you.”

“It never even occurred to me. Mer barely speaks to me.” She looked thoughtful. “He’s handsome, though. Hard-working, too. Excellent posture. Here, would you bring him this note?” She handed Nerussa a piece of paper, roughly folded in half, twice. She nodded and rushed back to Calcelmo. He wouldn’t tell her what the note said, but beamed with delight as he read it, tucking it safely into a pouch at his belt before hurrying toward the throne room, where Faleen was already back at her post.

“Faleen, I…”

The Housecarl shushed him. “It’s all right, you don’t need to say any more. I had no idea you were so… nuanced.” 

In his haste, Calcelmo’s hood had fallen back, and the tips of his ears were as red as she’d seen any Mer’s in her lifetime. The Jarl waved the two away to talk, and irritably told Nerussa to go and find a guard to stand in her place. 

When she had arranged that, she braced herself for the less pleasant part of her planned time at the Keep. Turning around, she almost walked into Ondolemar. Suppressing a shudder, keeping her face placid, she asked under her breath if they could talk. His eyebrow raised as he recognised her voice, and he escorted her towards another side room. “Oh, we don’t need that much privacy,” she said as calmly as she could, pushing away the memories of the Symposium. 

She would have to reckon with it eventually, but now was not the time.

He seemed in a much better mood than the last time she had seen him, but she had no time to ask about that. “Lemar, is there any way you could get a message to Saltar, securely?” Using his familiar name, but not Saltar’s. Massage his ego a bit, why not. She needed the message to get to her old friend, and if this was the price, so be it. Gods, she wished he wouldn’t look at her that way.

“Well, I will actually be paying a visit to the Embassy in a few days, Staril, so you’re in luck, I can give it to him personally. Glad to see you finally took my advice. Don’t worry, I shan’t tell anyone…” He looked as though he was about to suggest some form of… exchange, but to her enormous relief, his guards chose that minute to walk up to him.

“Justiciar Ondolemar, I’m afraid the Jarl has decided to release your prisoner. The old Skald. He wants to speak to you, but it seems unlikely he will change his mind.”

“Oh for… He’s barely even allowed me access to the man. I fear the Jarl may need some… convincing. I’m so sorry, my dear, I must leave you for now. I will see that Over-Justiciar Saltar gets your note.”

She did her best to look sorry that he was being taken from her, and dashed back to the marketplace. Lucien and Kaidan had finished trading in Arnleif and Sons, and after they'd given her a share of the proceeds of what they had taken from Saarthal - nothing too historical, of course - the three of them made their way back to the carriage. As they were about to climb aboard, she heard a low whine, and looked over her shoulder to see the husky staring over at her, his muzzle on his paws. She crossed the stable yard, reaching for her coin purse.

“How much for the dog, Banning?”

“Ah, this is a particularly fine animal, he’ll be a little more than good old Vigilance. He not with you today?” 

“No, bit too much time on the carriage the last few days, not fair on the boy, he’s at home with my house keeper. Is this enough?” She emptied out her purse into his cupped palms.

“I’d say that’ll cover it! He’s all yours.”


	63. Chapter 63

Dinya Balu smiled when she saw the Altmer enter the Temple once more. She could feel the other She-Elf’s uncertainty about the whole situation, and yet she pressed on, in service of Mara, and of the people who had sought Mara’s guidance. Dinya was aware of the dark entity that had its sights on the Dragonborn’s soul - and the others whose interest would surely soon be piqued - but she was confident that, in the end, the Light would win, one way or another. 

“I have helped Calcelmo and Faleen.”

“The goddess smiles at your efforts, Nerussa. The dawn shines bright upon you. You have seen the green, fickle love of youth, and helped a more seasoned love find its way. There is one final aspect for you to explore. A strong love can withstand storms, and even survive death. Take this symbol of Mara. She will guide you to the wandering souls of two whose love was so great, their entwinement binds them to this world.”

She handed the amulet, warm from her own skin, to the She-Elf before her. Nerussa put it, a little uncertainly, around her own neck, tucking it into her robes. “Thank you, Dinya. I’ll keep this safe.” The Priestess smiled at her. “It is yours, child. It will guide your way. Take a moment, do you feel anything?”

Nerussa closed her slate-grey eyes and concentrated. She opened them again in surprise. “Oh! I do! I saw a flash of… the plains, near Whiterun?” Dinya smiled again. 

“Mara guide you, child.”

***

Thankfully, she had no need to venture into the Ratways, so Kibell had agreed to wait and take them back as far as the turning towards Riverwood. Lucien and Kaidan took the new dog, who, at least for now, she was calling Summer - his soft blue eyes reminded her of the skies over Alinor during Sun’s Height - to meet his new brother, and of course Lydia and Hjoromir. Nerussa carried on toward Riverwood, to speak with Delphine, who seemed even more irritable than the last time they had met.

“I’m still working on my contact, he’s a little reluctant, but he’ll come around.” 

“Very well, I’m sure he will. You can contact me by Courier, or send word to Riverfall Lodge.”

She cast Candlelight as she left the tavern, and walked briskly back to the Lodge. After a quiet dinner by herself, she changed out of her robes and decided to get a little air before bed. She found Kaidan already standing where they had spoken before, leaning on the railing again. She was about to slip away quietly, when he spoke.

“I can leave if you want the place to yourself?”

“Oh, no, there’s no need for that! I just thought you might not want to be interrupted…”

He turned and smiled. “Don’t be daft, always got time for you. Sit down.” 

As she moved past him to do so, he reached out and lifted up the amulet at her neck, examining it. Damn, she hadn’t expected to see anyone, and the neckline of this tunic didn’t really allow for tucking the amulet away. Why was he looking at it like that?

“An amulet of Mara? I had no idea you were looking for marriage…” He lowered it carefully back to where it rested at the top of her sternum, and looked curiously at her.

“ _Marriage?_ ” 

“This amulet. You do know people in Skyrim wear this to show they’re... on the market for a husband or wife, don’t you?”

She was fairly sure her entire face and the whole of her ears were red, this time. He was still so close, which didn’t help. “I did _not_ know that. I’m supposed to wear it for, well. Dinya Balu gave it to me, to help me… find something.”

He raised an eyebrow. “The Priestess of Mara? Fair enough. Well, just be ready for proposals. The Nords can be pretty straightforward when it comes to pinning down a spouse.” He seemed to catch the double meaning of his words a little too late, and raised his hand to rub the back of his neck, blushing slightly.

“Can’t say I’ve met any Nords who’ve caught my eye…” She held his gaze for a heartbeat and a half, and she would have sworn his eyes flicked down to her lips as she looked away. 

“You’ve such a gentle heart. I wonder if there’d be anyone in Skyrim half deserving of your affection?” His voice was soft, and low, and she could have listened to him speak for hours.

Sod it. “Actually, there is someone… special.” 

“Oh? They’d have to be, to have won you over, and pretty daft if they turn you down.” 

She lost her nerve. “He can be… somewhat oblivious.” She moved away, finally sitting down, hugging her knees to her chest as she looked out at the stars.

“Bah, he’s not worth your time, then!” Kaidan said, decisively, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly. “Right, I think I’m for my bed. See you at breakfast!”


	64. Chapter 64

_**9th Sun’s Dusk** _

Decided to finish Mara’s task alone. Fine, possibly also didn’t want to face Kaidan this morning. Don’t know how a journal can look at a person accusingly, and yet… I really need to get past this… thing with Kaidan, though.

Left a note on the kitchen table and took the dogs with me. I hope Summer is all right. He’s such a sweet dog, but he seems so sad. I wonder if his old master died… Sometimes he’ll almost ‘act cheerful’, if a dog can do such a thing. As though he understands that I’m concerned about him, and is trying to reassure me.

Anyway, as we passed the market by the stables, I felt a sudden pull across the plains, almost as though I was a child whose parent was leading them by the hand. That sounds absurd, but I can’t think how else to put it.

Before I knew it, we had run almost to Rorikstead, and I was staring up at a great stone pillar, taller than the Giants at the camp we passed on the way. Near the base of the pillar, I could just make out the shape of a young woman, translucent like Fjori and Holgeir, but harder to see in the midday sun. When I approached her, she begged me to help find her husband’s body. It was painfully obvious that she knew he had fallen in battle, but did not realise she, too, was long dead.

I felt that pull again, and assured the spirit I would return with her husband before she knew it. A short run later, and I was standing in front of another confused spirit, convincing him to come with me. Their reunion was brief, at least on this plane, as they soon floated, hands clutched tightly together, up into the sky. When I could no longer make them out against the light blue autumn sky, I called the dogs and we began the walk back to Whiterun.

I must admit, I am still not entirely sure what lesson I am expected to learn from all this. That I should pursue Kaidan? Move on from him so I can ~~love~~ meet someone else? Not that I… Perhaps Mara doesn’t intend to teach anything so specific or personal? Just a general appreciation for the unseen stories being lived out all around me?

Met this Mallus character in the Bannered Mare on my way home. Nasty piece of work. Wants me to pose as a rat catcher and sabotage his employer, Sabjorn at the Honingbrew meadery. Can’t say I’m looking forward to tomorrow.

***

“Do you really think this is necessary, Lucien?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Do _you_ really think he won’t find anything strange about a well-dressed, well-spoken Altmer strolling in, claiming to be a rat-catcher? Besides, I spent all day yesterday creatively destroying this dress, the least you can do is humour me.”

She grumbled a bit more, but admitted defeat. A few minutes later, she came down the stairs in a worn, patched dress, covered in stains of various unsettling colours. Her hair was pulled back under a dull, brown headscarf, and she stood as still as she could while Lucien, brow furrowed in concentration, daubed mud lightly on her face and hands.

“Can you do any accents? I know you’re good at languages.”

“I could do a subtle Elsweyr, I think? Perhaps this one was raised in a Khajiiti orphanage…”

“That’s actually rather good! Lydia, Kaidan, what do you think? Have I made a draggle-tailed guttersnipe of this Thane of Whiterun?”

They nodded approvingly, and Nerussa decided not to notice their faces twitching with suppressed laughter. She checked her pocket for the poison Mallus had provided, and headed out of the house. Rather than following the road, she crossed the hillside behind the meadery, reaching the road near Pelagia Farm and heading back eastwards. 

***

Sabjorn wrinkled his nose as the door to his meadery swung open. Gods, what a stench! He picked up his broom, preparing to shoo the woman – no, not a woman, a she-Elf! – out, but she put up her hands and for some reason he felt inclined to listen to her.

“Having any trouble with skeevers?”

“Skeevers? I run a clean establishment, I… By Zenithar, fine. Yes, I am dealing with a… small infestation, ordinarily my assistant, Mallus, would deal with it, but that lazy, good-for-nothing oaf decided to visit one of the local taverns last night and I don’t have time to wait for him to deign to show up for work. I certainly can’t go crawling around in skeever nests, I’ve got a mead tasting to prepare for! The captain of the guard, no less.”

“So, you pay me, I rid you of skeevers, all is well?” Strange accent, obviously a foreigner. One of those revolting cannibal Wood Elves he’d heard about, maybe. He didn’t bother to hide his sneer.

“Fine, but don’t expect payment until the job is done. Here, I bought this poison from Arcadia, in the city, thank goodness she’s so discreet.”

“Oh, I think you pay me first. There was guard outside, if you don’t pay me, perhaps he would like to know about skeevers, hm?”

“Why, that’s extortion, you knife-eared little bitch!”

“Sure, extortion. So, you want me to kill skeevers with gold in my purse, or tell guard?”

He blinked. He did not have time for this. He counted out the coin and passed it to her, along with the vial of poison. “Now, hurry up! The captain of the guard will be here at noon, and I’ll have to draw the mead from the vat in good time.”

She made a show of biting one of the coins, grinned at him, and headed to the cellar.

***

Oghma’s tits! Nerussa was seriously considering swearing off Honningbrew Mead, the place was disgusting. At least the Black-Briar place was kept clean. Strange, Honningbrew had a good reputation for a relatively new meadery, but she didn’t think much of either the owner or the sole employee she had met so far. She wasn’t especially happy about any of this, truth be told, and she was certainly not particularly keen to help Maven, but she had to admit she was curious to find out whether there was some connection with the papers she had found in Goldenglow.

She wiped cobwebs from her face with her sleeve, then remembered where her sleeve might have been. She gagged as quietly as she could, charging Invisibility, and vanishing from sight. Carefully, she snuck past a skeever, its nose twitching as it tried to make sense of the conflicting sensory input. Her soft-soled boots let her move almost silently, but clearly she was far from scentless. She passed through a hole in the cellar wall, and into a tunnel, just barely high enough to crouch in. 

Thankfully, the tunnel broadened out into a small cavern after a few minutes, less thankfully it was populated by a number of both skeevers and spiders. Very, very carefully, she moved past the verminous creatures towards another tunnel opening on one side of the cavern. Her job was not to exterminate the creatures personally, but to poison them, and she was not especially keen to aggravate the spiders after her experience in the tomb of Jurgen Windcaller. She had a feeling there was something odd about the skeevers, as well.

She had not expected to find a person down in the tunnels. The man – she thought it was a man – ahead of her did not look like someone she wanted to go up against without a bit of an unfair advantage. Generally speaking, someone who lived in a hole in the ground, and talked lovingly to his skeever friends might not appear to be much of a threat, but she was fairly certain that his ragged garb had, at one point, been a set of College robes – not the strongest enchantment, but indicative of some level of skill beyond that of the typical bandit or wandering madman. That was probably not something to take lightly.

She considered the idea of putting Vipir’s lessons into practice, from a few days before. He’d sidled up to her and offered to teach her a few tricks. She wasn’t sure at first whether he was attempting to flirt, but it turned out he’d been speaking to Delvin, who’d mentioned that she seemed to… lack confidence in taking fishing jobs. She had come away with a much better grasp, so to speak, of the basics, at least, of pickpocketing. He’d also mentioned something that he could teach her when she was a bit more practiced – a way of poisoning a ‘mark’ by placing a fragile vial of something deeply unpleasant in their pocket. He’d also suggested that, if it really came down to it, that particular trick could be accomplished by a less skilled fisher, provided they weren’t aiming to be undetected, and didn’t mind giving the target a good slap on the arse. 

Still, she was unsure. He was clearly up to something nefarious, but then… so was she. Perhaps it would be better to wait for the job to be done and suggest to Mallus that he hire a Companion or three to clear the cellar out… She would need to return to him once the coast was clear anyway, he had said there was some “interesting information” to be found in Sabjorn’s quarters, but she obviously hadn’t been able to risk going in there yet.

After some debate, she decided to do her best to sneak past. She scanned the room. The man was standing by an alchemy lab, muttering to the largest skeever she had ever seen. The nest was...right next to it. Damn. What were her choices? Attempt to poison the mage, and hope he was too addled to put up a serious fight, or turn invisible again, sneak over, poison the nest, and hope she could turn invisible again before the mage or his… pet noticed her from the corner of their eye? Of course, she couldn’t be sure from here if he even _had_ pockets… Oh, to Oblivion with it, she still needed to get up into the Brewhouse for the actual sabotage part. She charged Invisibility again…

***

Well, at least the ratcatcher had been quick, Sabjorn thought, as he prepared the cask of mead for Commander Caius to inspect. He’d heard a few odd noises that had seemed to be coming from beneath his feet, but she had emerged after only an hour or so, with several skeever tails that she was apparently planning to sell to the local alchemist. His stomach turned at the memory, but - praise Zenithar! - when he’d entered the brewhouse, the place had been free of the vile creatures.

He found himself humming as he strolled back to the main building of the meadery. His business had been doing well, and with the final payment, and promise of assistance from his… patron… and the successful inspection by Caius, he was looking forward to going into full production, and really giving that Riften lot a run for their money. The free labour didn’t hurt, although lately Mallus had not been pulling his weight. That would have to be… dealt with.

“Ah, Commander Caius, I trust you haven’t been waiting long? Please, do come in, I think you’ll enjoy sampling this latest batch, it’s a new recipe, with a little something extra!”

***

The house was dark when she finally got home, and only the dogs acknowledged her entrance. Outside her bedroom, she found - actually, almost trod on - a small, beautifully wrapped parcel.

_Had a walk in to town while you were off crawling around in skeever nests, and got you this at Arcadia’s. Hope you like it. Package is a bit fancy, but then, so are you._

_Kaidan_

She took the parcel into her room and unwrapped it carefully. Inside she found a bar of soap, a vial of what she was delighted to realise was bath oil, and a small jar of scented salve. The scent of honeysuckle and orange blossom hit her as she lifted the soap from the delicate fabric wrap. The scents of home. She wiped away a tear, and took the gifts to her bathroom, planning to ask Hjoromir to fill the tub in the morning, but she opened the door to a facefull of steam, and a bath which had clearly been recently filled with hot water. 

She took a few moments with the wash jug in her room to get the worst of the muck off, then sank gratefully into the blissfully warm, scented water.

Some time later, wrapped in the enormous, soft towel she had found in the linen cupboard on her first night in the place, she knocked quietly on Kaidan’s door. After a moment, it opened.

“Oh! I… didn’t think you’d open the door. Sorry. I just wanted to thank you for the gift. It was just what I needed. Goodnight!” She turned to dash back to her room for an extended swear, but his hand grabbed hers, stopping her in her tracks. She couldn’t quite look at him, and she almost couldn’t hear what he said.

“You deserve it. And… you smell good.” Before she could react, he had ducked back into his room, the door closed, as she stared into space for a moment.

Make that a truly monumental swear, she thought to herself. As she turned to leave, she could almost have sworn she heard a quiet _“fuck.”_ Must have been the wind, she thought as she returned to her room.


	65. Chapter 65

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note: this chapter contains a couple of mentions of a prior attempted rape, and a nightmare reliving it. There's nothing graphic, but it may still be unsettling. There is also a mention of stabbing a different attacker in the eye.

_Attn: Nerussa, Thane of Whiterun_

_Your message has been received. Please rendez-vous at location previously discussed on 13th Sun’s Dusk, one hour after sunset._

_I’ll bring the Alto._

“Got yourself a fancy-man, have you?” 

“Kaidan! Don’t read people’s letters over their shoulders!”

“Lucien, if people don’t want their letters read, they shouldn’t read them openly at the breakfast table.”

“I don’t think that’s…” Nerussa cut him off.

“It’s fine, Lucien. No, it’s not a ‘fancy-man’, it’s an old friend. An old colleague. I’m hoping he can help me access… Hjoromir, could you perhaps give us a few minutes? Maybe take the dogs for a walk. Thank you.” She waited until the door was closed to continue. “I’m hoping he can get me into the Embassy in some less ridiculous fashion than Delphine’s notion that I should attend a party there. Obviously I’d rather avoid the place entirely, but to be honest, there’s a few things I’d quite like to re-acquire, and they aren’t all things I want Saltar to risk looking for.”

“Oh. Well. Yes, that seems sensible, I suppose. Very good.” He took a bite of toasted bread and chewed thoughtfully. “Why does he say he’s bringing wine, then?”

“Because he’s a dreadful old gossip, and the price of helping me will probably be an hour or two drinking wine in the cold, and catching up. The ‘location discussed,’ though... Only place in Skyrim I can remember talking about with him is Volskygge, a ruin in Haafingar. When I arrived from Alinor, he was trying to give me nightmares with tales of the place.”

Kaidan raised an impressed eyebrow. “Crafty bugger, good way to get you to remember the name if he ever needed a secret meeting point, eh?”

“Apparently so.” She hadn’t quite thought of it like that, but yes, that would have very likely been the reason. 

***

When she arrived at the Ragged Flagon later that day, Brynjolf had looked over the promissory note she’d taken from Sabjorn’s quarters and raised an eyebrow. “Best take that to Mercer, lass.”

Mercer took the note over to his desk and compared it to the bill of sale from Goldenglow. Sure enough, the same symbol was on both papers. “Well, this proves the Guild isn’t cursed, whatever Delvin thinks. We’ve got a competitor trying to bring us down… I want you to go to Solitude and look for Gulum-Ei. Old soak’ll probably be in the Skeever, hoping to cadge free drinks. Try and get information out of him, but you’ll probably need to follow him to find out what he knows.”

She had agreed, of course, and returned to her friends. Maven had paid well enough, a small pile of silver and a rather nice enchanted dagger. The proceeds from that, Sabjorn’s payment, and the few things she’d brought to fence made her coin purse feel significantly heavier, which was just as well, if they were heading to Solitude. Naturally, she had picked up jobs from Delvin and Vex, as well. She rarely felt guilty about robbing residents of Solitude, at least, and she was starting to find she was well-regarded enough that Delvin, at least, didn’t object if she refused a given job based on what she knew of the mark.

***

They had made it to Solitude shortly before midnight, and were welcomed into the Winking Skeever by a slightly inebriated Sorex Vinius, the owner’s son. For once, all four of the rooms were available, and so Nerussa was entirely alone when she woke, some time before dawn, sobbing and afraid, after the worst nightmare she had experienced since Morthal. She had been back in that awful, cramped cloakroom, the smell of Ondolemar’s cologne cloyingly sweet, and all she could think of was the momentary relief of him being pulled off her before she realised _what_ had taken his place.

“Nerussa?” She couldn’t quite tell whose voice it was, so she wiped her face on the sleeve of her nightgown and went to the door.

“Sorry, Kaidan, I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“Nah, I usually wake up for a bit around this time. Heard… well, you probably know what I heard. Is everything all right? Do you want me to go?” His face was full of concern, and she opened the door wider so he could come in, and sat at the top of the bed, tucking her knees under her chin and wrapping her arms around them. Kaidan sat cautiously at the foot of the bed.

“This is going to sound so ridiculous but… I had a bad dream.”

“That doesn’t sound ridiculous at all. Not after the ones you were having after Ustengrav. Was it the same sort of thing?”

She nodded, and willed the tears not to come again. “I can’t remember. Did I tell you about them, or did you all just… hear?”

“You said a little. We heard a few things - a name, something about vampires. You seemed not to want to talk about it, so I read to you, instead.”

She stared at her knees as she spoke. “Right. Well. There was a thing, about fifteen years ago. Things went very badly. But in a different way to how they were supposed to go badly. I had the memories taken away, it was safer, but… Something about what happened in Ustengrav must have brought them back. Ondolemar… He was drunk, he tried to… force himself on me. He didn’t get very far, though, because that _thing_ pulled him away, threw him across the room. It tried to… it very nearly managed to feed from me. In reality, I know I stopped it. I found the bolt and I stabbed the bastard thing in its eye, and then I did it again and again. But in the nightmares…”

“Ah.” She raised her eyes and saw he understood. “I don’t know if it would help, but… would you like me to stay, while you try and get some more sleep? You look like you’d rather not be by yourself.” She looked back down and nodded, slightly. He stood.

“Where are you going?”

“To… sit on the chair?” He gestured across the room. “Is that... not what you had in mind?”

She shook her head. “Would you… Would you mind staying _here?_ I think I need someone close enough that I can tell they’re really still there.”

He exhaled. “If that’s what you need, sure. Shove over, then. Or would you rather be on the outside?”

She couldn’t manage many more words, so she just moved herself over to the side of the bed against the wall, and lay down. She felt the bed shift as he lay down. “Thank you.” She opened her eyes a little, and saw him turn his head and smile gently at her. “Anything for you, Dragonborn. Get some rest. I’ll probably stay awake, got some thinking to do.”

"Could I ask for one more thing?"

"Of course." His eyes were soft, and she wondered a little at how such strange eyes could look so very much like somewhere safe.

"Could you hold me, just for a little while?" He smiled again, and swallowed slightly.

"Aye. Reckon I can manage that. Come on, then." He turned on his side, and she rolled over, facing away from him. He moved cautiously closer, and she pressed her back into his chest, mumbling an apology which he shushed. His arm draped over her waist, his hand palm down on the bed in front of her.

"Is that okay?"

She nodded, and before she knew it, she was asleep.


	66. Chapter 66

Nerussa woke some hours later, and was embarrassed to find she had at some point in the night twined her fingers into Kaidan’s. Fortunately he had fallen asleep himself, and she was able to extricate them before sitting up to wake him. He smiled sleepily up at her and her stupid heart thudded so loud she was sure he’d hear. 

“Morning. Got some sleep, then? Suppose I’d best slink back to my room and hope the others don’t make something of it...”

She did her best to smile back at him, though his words stung. Was the idea of their companions thinking they might have been… together so awful? She was lucky again, though, and he was too sleepy to notice her tight-lipped expression, or chose not to comment on it.

“Thank you, Kaidan. I appreciate it, more than you know.” He grinned and got out of the bed. 

“Like I told you before, you can lean on me, if you need to. Not the worst way to spend a night, either.” And with that, he slipped out of the door. She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts, and crossed the room to the wash jug and the clothes she had set out the night before.

***

The Argonian had given her a few shreds of information - the buyer was female, and angry with Mercer Frey - but she could tell he knew more than he was letting on. So, now she was skulking around a warehouse, doing her best to remain invisible, and very glad of the Muffle enchantment on the boots she had bought from Grelka. She had clambered up to the top level of a series of shelves and was trailing the Argonian, periodically having to work up the nerve to hop from one to the next - thankfully, they were sturdy affairs, built to hold large amounts of cargo from the docks, and barely creaked as around ten thousand angaids of She-Elf landed on them. 

Still, she had found a few interesting trinkets along the way, including a map which she rather thought Delvin might have a use for. The Argonian had reached what appeared to be the limit of the cavern which held the warehouse, but as Nerussa watched, he ducked between two shelves. After allowing time for him to come back out if he had just decided to relieve himself, she moved toward the shelves and looked between them. Sure enough, there was a plain, wooden door set into the rock wall, without even a handle. She gave it a small push, and it swung open, silently.

She stepped cautiously through and was not overly surprised to find herself in a smugglers’ den - more shelves, rather less sturdy, groaned with crates taken from the warehouse. The East Empire Company was clearly rich enough not to miss them, it seemed. A pair of roughly-dressed men stood nearby, absorbed in some petty dispute, by the sounds of them, and she slipped past easily without even bothering to cast Invisibility again, though she did cast before venturing further. 

She had lost track of Gulum-Ei, or Gajul-Lei or whatever his name was, obviously, but thankfully she was pretty certain there was only one path through the winding tunnel. The boots proved so helpful that she gave serious thought to giving Grelka a quick hug when she was next in Riften, although she didn’t really fancy a knife to the ribs. Sure enough, she eventually found herself in a larger cavern, piled high with boxes, where Gulum-Ei stood, making awkward conversation with a particularly large and intimidating smuggler. She watched for some time, observing the layout of the room. Carefully, she cast Invisibility yet again, and began to creep around the perimeter, staying as far away from the two as she could. 

In one corner of the space, she hopped over a gate, feeling a cool breeze coming through the tunnel beyond it. She crept along it a short way, where it opened up into a small space, occupied by a pair of sleeping horkers. Sure enough, she could see a narrow opening in the other side of the space, too small and high for the fat horkers to escape, but she was reasonably sure a person could squeeze through. 

She slipped back into the larger cavern, and waited some more. Finally, just as she was about to give up and attack the smugglers, Gulum-Ei wandered close enough for her to risk talking to him. She hissed a warning not to alert the smugglers, and he nodded frantically, eyes wide, which she realised was most likely because she had just appeared as though out of thin air. He muttered something to the smuggler about ‘checking on the pantry’, and stepped through the gate to the tunnel, following Nerussa to the room where the horkers slept. 

“Now, there’s no need to do anything rash,” the Argonian said, holding his hands up defensively. “This isn’t as bad as it seems - I was going to tell Mercer, honestly! Please… He’ll have me killed.”

“Mercer doesn’t need to know.” The Argonian relaxed, his shoulders dropping several pertans, his brow smoothing.

“I see you wish to be reasonable. Perhaps I misjudged you. The name you need is Karliah.”

“Should I know that name?”

“Mercer never told you? Karliah is the thief responsible for the murder of the previous Guildmaster. Gallus. Now it seems she’s after Mercer.”

Nerussa raised an eyebrow. “And you’re helping her?”

“Help? No, no! I didn’t even realise who she was at first! Please, you have to believe me…”

“So, where is she now?”

“I don’t know, when I asked where she was going, she just muttered something like ‘where the end began.’ Here, take the Goldenglow Estate deed as proof. And when you speak to Mercer… Tell him I’m worth more to him alive?” His tone was pleading, and she decided it might be worth letting him stew, so she turned silently, and passed through the hole into the late afternoon light. 

She got her bearings and followed the coastline back to the docks, strolling into the city as the sun began to set. In the Skeever, she joined the others who explained that Corpulus had asked if they would mind sharing two rooms that evening, as another party had requested rooms. 

“That’s fine with me, yes. I should warn you, though, Lydia, I had another nightmare last night, so I apologise in advance if I wake you in the night.”

“No need to apologise, my Thane, I’m sworn to lay down my life for you, I can handle a little disturbed sleep. Still, I appreciate the warning.”

***

“She’ll be fine, you know.”

“What? Oh, yes. Of course. I’m not worried. Do I look worried, Kaidan? Lydia thinks I’m worried!” Lucien’s voice shook a little, she thought, but she decided not to push it.

“If you say so…” She returned to brushing the horse the Thane had hired for the day, intending to impress this old friend of hers, one eye on Kaidan. He was a great sabre-cat of a man, but he had proven he had a good heart. She wished he and her Thane would stop dancing around. It was painfully obvious they had feelings for each other, but it wasn’t her business, so she said nothing.

The bets with Lucien, on the other hand… Well, the payouts were helping her deal with the frustration. She hadn’t spent any of it, yet, but her coin purse was a lot fuller over the last couple of weeks. When they’d found Kaidan’s room empty the previous morning, she’d expected to have to pay up herself, but Lucien had shook his head and said he didn’t think so, and when the others joined them for breakfast on the ground floor, she’d come to the conclusion he was right.

“Just because the last time she went somewhere dangerous by herself, she ended up spending days in a Jarl’s bed to recover, that doesn’t mean I’m worried!”

Lydia sighed and finished brushing the horse. Truth be told, she wasn’t happy about her Thane going in by herself, either, just to get some staff for some shonky mage. She was starting to stretch her limbs when she was nearly knocked over by something - some _one_ \- invisible, racing out of the nearby cave and straight into her. The spell broken, her Thane looked over her shoulder, grabbed her pack from the ground, and yelled at the three of them to get into the sunlight. Lydia made herself lead the horse calmly away as Lucien and Kaidan raced to catch up with a visibly terrified Nerussa. She tried to block out the angry hisses behind her, striding toward the bright light of the clearing, only a few more steps away. Suddenly, it hit her. She could see red light from the corners of her eyes, but all she was really aware of was the feeling of weakness, like nothing she’d ever felt before. She couldn’t even call out as her legs gave way beneath her.

***

Saltar smoothed his robes, trying to push the risk he was taking from his mind. Still, he did feel guilty about her predicament. Perhaps if he had hinted to her, or warned her outright, she could have spoken to Elenwen, grovelled, submitted herself for further Processing… Something that would have kept her from this humiliation. There again, she was never really the grovelling sort, he thought fondly. More likely, she would have gotten angry, and ended up in the dungeon. 

The message had come via that odious Ondolemar, another who didn’t know how to ingratiate himself, which was amusing given how obsequious the Mer was. He’d spent the past few years skulking around the Keep in Markarth, which was by all accounts a dreadful place - humans living in the shell of a Merish city, albeit only Deep Elven. Regrettably, the Mer was now being considered for a promotion, after his recent stroke of good fortune. Still, best not think of that now, wouldn’t want little Rilli to know about it. She would only worry.

He descended the steps into what passed for a reception hall at the Embassy. It was pathetic, really, but at least the architecture was less ugly than most he’d seen in this backwater of a province. There was a certain naïve charm to it, he supposed. A Nord serving girl bobbed her head and smiled shyly up at him as he passed. Not bad looking, for a human, and he was heartily tired of the few She-Elves in the Embassy. He hadn’t bedded the First Emissary, of course, but at his rank, he could hardly make the first move. Perhaps on his return, he’d seek the girl out. She seemed to have a proper attitude. 

Outside, he cursed under his breath at the thinness of his robes. Still, at least silk was warmer than linen, he smirked, glancing at the guard-wizard across the courtyard. He drew on his inner reserves to maintain proper posture as he crossed to the barracks to see where his escort had got to.

He was tempted to just leave without them, but he did not wish to arouse any suspicion. Not that their presence was for anything other than his own protection, of course. The Thalmor trusted their Over-Justiciar implicitly, and he would never give them a reason not to. Still, they were only grunts, and should be easy enough to slip away from, for a couple of hours. They would enjoy the Surelie Brothers wine he was bringing - nothing on real Alinor wine, of course, nor the Alto he was bringing for Rilli - but far better than the local swill. 

There was a cottage - abandoned, he was fairly sure - near the ruin, where he was confident he could get his escort drunk enough not to care if he went for a short walk. The barracks door opened, and he was pleased to see there was a new She-Elf at the Embassy, after all. Well, this could prove to be a most pleasant evening, in spite of the chill.

***

It felt… strange. Almost dream-like. Lydia knew she should be getting to her feet, running from the thing behind her, or at least trying to spook the horse into dragging her away. Something. She felt cold and hot, pain and… not-pain? Words weren’t really working, just now. She was vaguely aware of her Thane moving up ahead, charging a spell. She could hear the flames - was that right? Could she usually hear flames? She wasn’t sure, she couldn’t remember. She knew It was approaching, still draining her, but she could feel It pause. Feel It start to… fear, just a little. Mostly, though, It still felt strong. Excited. Hungry. Her Thane’s flames grow closer, and Lydia shrank away, not wanting to block her, not wanting to be hit by the awful heat.

She felt the horse’s reins slip from her grasp as the animal began to run. Oh, well. Maybe it was time to sleep. Suddenly, she felt hands under her arms, pulling her to her feet, a voice urgently telling her to get up, get moving. Fine, why not? She didn’t want to rush, but she supposed she could go with whoever this was. She was being pulled along, stumbling. Why was walking so hard? Why was she being expected to _run?_ Behind her, she felt It falter. It wasn’t really in danger, but It seemed unsure somehow. She was in the light now, the horrible light, and she heard… Kaidan, that was his name. Heard him draw his bow, and as he ran forward again, she saw the other one - _Lucien_ \- charge a pale golden spell as he, too, ran toward the Creature. Her Thane was blasting It with flames from one hand, and a shock spell from the other. Her head felt a little clearer now Its attention had moved away from her. 

As she watched, her Thane began to… glow. A sort of white light all around her. Even the Vampire - gods, a _vampire!_ \- seemed fascinated by this turn of events, and the Thane took advantage of that, bracing herself and…

_“Fus Ro DAH!”_

The Vampire was knocked flying, landing almost back at the entrance of the cave, and seemed disorientated, struggling to get to its feet. Lucien shot Sun Fire at it, and the Thane fired off a Fireball with both hands, following it with a volley of Fire Bolts. The Vampire didn’t stand a chance, she thought proudly, as her vision faded.

***

She was late. That was unusual. The air was chilly, and he considered opening the wine to stay warm. He was close to giving up, when he heard footsteps approaching. At first he thought she was alone, a hood mostly covering her face, only her mouth and chin visible, the colour of her skin noticeably different even by torchlight. Then, he looked up the steps behind her and saw, standing at the top of them, a large, hooded male, arms folded. A glimpse of golden skin and a fine jawline in the moonlight. He heard a horse somewhere up above, as well, and as he listened, he thought he heard a faint clink of armour. Sounded more like Elven than the heavy steel most of the peasants in this province wore. So, she’d found herself a pair of Elvish guards, had she? They greeted each other. 

“The hood’s staying up, I take it?”

“Of course. As I’m sure you’ve guessed, I finally took Lemar’s advice and visited a face sculptor. Wouldn’t want them reviewing your memories, would I?”

“I’m hurt that you think I’d be so careless as to give them reason to, young lady. And don’t think I didn’t catch that, whatever has the fine Justiciar done to deserve such disrespect?” His tone was teasing, but he knew it betrayed at least a small measure of concern.

“It’s not important. Look, Saltar, thank you for meeting with me. I trust it wasn’t too much trouble? I need… Oh, this whole thing is ridiculous!”

“Of course, it was nothing, a gentle evening stroll. But I’ll admit, I’m curious. There have been… rumours. Nothing concrete, and naturally the First Emissary has made it clear that they’re utter nonsense, but… Well, there are records. Naturally the ‘jarls’ have to report any honours awarded, new titles, that sort of thing, to their betters…”

“Oghma’s tits, I knew I should have refused that.”

“On the contrary, I think consolidating your position in Nord society, such as it is, will stand you in good stead should you ever, well, require protection. The First Emissary might easily arrange for the arrest of an… insurrectionist nobody, I’m sure you’re aware of the various missing Nords…” She didn't react, although he thought the guard's posture shifted slightly, a little more aggression in the great brute's stance.

“But of course, as is obvious from the fact that even in Markarth, under Justiciar Ondolemar’s very well-bred nose, Talos worship continues, there are those who are more difficult to… extract. I’ve also heard tell of an Altmer member of Riften’s Thieves’ Guild who is on friendly terms with their Jarl. Of course, that would be quite out of character for you, but if you happened to meet her, you might wish to encourage her to capitalise on those connections, hmm? But I’m taking over, as usual, please, dear girl – what did you wish to discuss?”

He caught a slight smile before she spoke, and he realised just how glad he was his young friend had survived Elenwen’s scheme. He glanced up at the Mer above them, wondering if he was her lover. She hoped he treated her better than Ondolemar had, if so. 

“I need, well, a favour. It’s… complicated, but essentially, I need to get into the Embassy. I’ve got a contact who seems to think the best way to do this is to attend one of Elenwen’s functions, but obviously, well, I’d like to avoid that.”

“And you can’t let your contact know the details of why not, I take it? Goodness me, I do hope you’re keeping your journal still, I’ll want to read it some day.”

She laughed. “So, all I need is to slip quietly into the Embassy – probably just the administrative offices. I just need to look for some… old paperwork of mine.”

“Oh, is that all? To be honest, you’d have a better chance at one of those parties, you know how distracted Elenwen gets. And you certainly know how the guards and staff who aren’t invited like to take the evening easy… Hmm. Did you ever get the hang of Invisibility?”

She chuckled, charged the spell, and vanished. “It’s certainly come in handy lately, yes.”


	67. Chapter 67

After Saltar left, they had made camp near the ruin, figuring they might as well explore the place in the morning. Lydia was much better after the cure disease potion, but still seemed a little under the weather, and Nerussa made a mental note to ask Dinya to check her over when they got to Riften the next day. She took first watch, and was a little relieved when Lucien offered to take second. She wasn’t sure she could face a campfire conversation with Kaidan tonight. 

She had made it through Pinemoon Cave with no problem, collected the staff, and she very nearly got out with no issue, but she must have moved too close to the vampire patrolling the cave mouth. It had been far, far stronger than the desiccated creatures in the Catacombs of Solitude, and she had tears streaming down her face the whole time they were fighting it. She wasn’t sure if the others had noticed, they hadn’t said anything if they had. 

***

The majority of Volskygge was nothing wildly out of the ordinary, and Nerussa was a little unnerved to realise how much she had adjusted to Skyrim that she felt that way. The first few chambers had been taken over by a group of bandits, but that soon gave way to increasingly large and powerful Draugr. Nerussa had decided it was as good a time as any to try the scrolls J’zargo, one of the other College apprentices, had asked her to test for him. The explosion as the Flame Cloak materialised around her certainly helped cut through the Draugr, unfortunately, it also burned Nerussa quite badly. She hoped that wasn’t what the Khajiit had intended, and crossly shoved the rest of the scrolls to the bottom of her pack.

Finally, they had pushed open an iron door which led out onto a flat, snow-covered area, a good way up the mountain Volskygge was built into. As her eyes adjusted to the daylight, she heard the by now familiar chant of a Word Wall. Turning, she saw a set of stone steps, leading up to the Wall, in front of which she could just make out a large, ornate sarcophagus.

Nerussa made her way cautiously past the sarcophagus to the Wall.

_**KEST** _

As the word washed through her, she heard, as expected, the sarcophagus lid fall behind her. When she turned, however, it was no mere Draugr that rose from the coffin. She had a brief memory of one of Lucien’s notebooks that he had shown her - a sketch, carefully copied from one of his books back in the Imperial City, of a Dragon Priest. 

There were some differences - she suspected the book’s illustrator had been working from a description rather than memory - but it was clear that this was just such a creature. Mummified in much the same way as ordinary Draugr, presumably, but wearing faded, tattered purple robes and an eerie mask, and - this was the crucial part, she rather felt - floating. 

The thing drifted slowly towards her, raising its hands. Frost spilled from one as it reached out to her, and she was lucky to dodge under it and out of the way, rolling and landing by the Wall. Angrily, the Dragon Priest flicked its other hand out to the side, and to her dismay she saw a Frost Atronach appear by the sarcophagus. She couldn't seem to move, why couldn't she move? 

Thankfully, the others didn't seem to be similarly afflicted. She saw a pale gold light strike the back of the creature's masked head, and it swung around angrily. She was suddenly mobile again, and got to her feet, charging her Flame spell and rushing forward. 

***

"I bet Auryen would be interested in this mask. If you three don't mind collecting my things from the tavern, I could run it up to him." Lucien ran his hand over the mask, then hurriedly wiped it with his handkerchief. "I don't want to tarnish it with the oils on my skin," he offered by way of explanation when Kaidan looked curiously at him. 

"Right. Thousands of years stuck on that thing's face, and a bit of non-existent grease from your manicured fingers is going to damage it…"

Lucien chuckled, and packed the mask carefully away. "We're taking the carriage this evening, right, boss?"

"Yes, I'm not looking forward to it, but I don't think I can take another night in Solitude. Something about Solitude seems to be… Affecting me. Perhaps some residual energy from Potema's… Attempt? I don't know."

"Very well. Straight through to Riften, or a stop at home?"

"The latter, I think. If we're lucky, we should get there not too long past midnight. We can hire Bjorlam in the morning."

***

She was almost asleep when she heard a soft knock at the door. She opened the door a crack. 

"Kaidan?"

"Can I ask you something?"

She blinked. "Of course, but what can't wait until morning?"

"I'd rather not stand out here, if that's all right?"

She apologised and opened the door fully. Kaidan stepped inside quickly, and Nerussa took a step back.

"What's wrong?"

He drew in a breath. "Have I… upset you in some way?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Ever since the other night, you've seemed… off with me. Not… nasty or anything, but just… You won't meet my eye, and I know that's hard for you, but usually you manage wi' me. You've barely talked to me, the last two days. If there's something I've done, I'd like to know, so I can make it right. Can't stand it when people won't talk about what's bothering 'em."

"Well…" She closed her eyes for a moment. "The other day, when you said… that you didn't want Lucien and Lydia to think anything had… happened. I know, I sound like a total fool, but…"

"Ah. You think I would be ashamed if they thought that, do you?" She nodded, ever so slightly. He put his hand on her arm, and spoke softly. "That couldn't be further from the truth, Nerussa. I'm sorry if I gave you that impression. I just wouldn't want them thinking something that wasn't true. Can cause problems in a group, that sort of thing."

She risked a glance up at him, his red eyes full of concern for her. It was all she could do not to close the tiny gap between them and kiss him. She smiled as best she could, thanked him for coming to talk to her and said something about needing to sleep, practically pushing him out of the door. 

"Right, well… glad we've cleared that up, then," she heard him mutter as she leaned her forehead on the cool wood of the door. She really would have to talk to Dinya about this when they got to Riften.

***

Except, of course, she didn't get a moment alone with the Priestess. They briefly spoke about the conclusion of her work for Mara, before Nerussa ushered Lydia forward. "The Thane gave me a potion, and I felt much better, but I'm still not quite right. I feel… muddy."

The Dunmer kept one hand on her round belly, and raised the other to the cheek of the Nord woman. A soft golden light suffused Lydia's face, spreading downwards gradually. "Mara's warmth be with you, child." Nerussa had been about to ask Dinya for a quiet word, when they heard a commotion outside. 

Rushing to the market place, they saw a distressed Argonian woman, pleading with the guard. "I didn't mean to take it! Please, just let me go…" The guard looked to Grelka, apparently the owner of whatever "it" was, who shrugged.

"She's given it back, I don't care what you do with her, I've got selling to get on with." Nerussa marched over and, in her most persuasive tone, insisted that the guard let her deal with the situation. Soon after, they were sitting upstairs at the Bee and Barb, waiting for the Argonian to calm down enough to explain what was happening.

"I didn't mean to take it, you have to believe me. I just… I don't know what I was thinking!" She looked on the verge of tears again, and Nerussa made eye contact with Lucien, who put his hand reassuringly on the woman's arm, the same green glow as before spreading across her. She sniffled a little, her shoulders drooping, but managed not to cry.

"I'm going to lose my job, please, don't tell Bolli." 

"He's the owner of the fishery, is that right? That's where you work?" A small nod. "And you're worried you'll lose your job because of what just happened?"

"Not just that… it's…" she looked nervously around. "The skooma. I never meant it to get like this, but I can't… I can't stop."

Lucien moved so he could look into the Argonian woman's downturned face.

"I may be able to help you. There's no simple cure for skooma addiction, but I know a spell that should get it out of your system. If you could stay away from the stuff for a few weeks at least, it might be enough."

She laughed hollowly, looking around the room. "You know where we are, right? This is Riften. There is no 'away from the stuff'."

Lucien looked over at Nerussa. "Auryen mentioned he was looking for someone to clean the museum, do you think..?"

"It's worth a try. What's your name, miss?"

"Wujeeta. What's he talking about?" 

"Wujeeta, how would you feel about a job as a servant in Solitude? Not the most exciting, but…" She realised the Argonian's eyes were shining with tears, and a broad grin had spread across her face.

"Oh, that would be wonderful! Would you really do that for me?" Her claw-tipped fingers were digging into Nerussa's arm, and she did her best not to flinch.

"Of course, but you need to tell me who got you on the skooma in the first place. I like Riften. I don't like the idea of a skooma-dealer doing this to people. Not with the orphanage…"

Wujeeta looked panicked. "I can't _give you his name_! He's a very bad man, he'll have me killed!"

"That's why you need to tell me, Lydia will take you to Solitude straight away on the carriage, and the three of us will _deal_ with him." Wujeeta looked uncertainly at Lydia, who nodded firmly. 

"You promise? All right… his name is Sarthis Idren…" 


	68. Chapter 68

Nerussa had briefly spoken with Jarl Laila Law-Giver on a few occasions, it had seemed polite, after all, to introduce herself when she came to… obtain things from the court wizard, a rather scatter-brained Bosmer. She hadn’t really had an extended conversation with the woman, though, so she decided to play it safe and re-introduce herself, giving her Whiterun title and offhandedly mentioning the unofficial ‘protector of Solitude’ thing. 

They exchanged pleasantries for a while in the Jarl’s private tea-room, before finally Nerussa was able to bring up the topic of Idren’s warehouse. The Jarl quietly admitted that she had reason to think the Dunmer had informants in the guard. Apparently, whenever a raid was ordered, he was nowhere to be seen, and there was nothing more illegal than some poorly-stored fish. Nerussa agreed to visit him right away, before any warning could reach him. 

As she closed the dock gate behind her, she cast Invisibility, confusing a guard who looked away just before she cast it, and looked back to see… Nobody. The spell would fail as soon as she unlocked the warehouse door, she knew, but this would at least prevent her being followed by anyone outside who worked for Idren.

Slipping inside, she was able, just about, to refresh her spell without altering the large Dunmer on the far side of the rather empty warehouse. A bodyguard, she presumed. Where was Idren, then? She started towards the stairs, not noticing a tripwire inside the doorway. It snapped without impeding her movement, but it was enough to alert the guard, who rushed at her, weapon drawn. Nerussa charged an enhanced frost spell in both hands, and as they hit the Dunmer, he initially looked confused as he realised he wasn't running as fast any more. His bonemold armour began to crack from the cold, and just as he got within range of her, he collapsed to the floor, not moving.

Oghma's frilly drawers. She hadn't really expected to avoid bloodshed, but she had hoped Idren might have been… amenable. Still, she wouldn't entirely have trusted him not to slink back when the city wasn't actively protected by an angry Dragonborn Altmer. She headed downstairs.

***

Sarthis Idren winced at the thud from above. Bloody s'wit, knocking things over again. Good job he didn’t really need to worry about the state of the rubbish he kept upstairs. Even better, he’d just had word from Cragslane that there should be a shipment for him to collect later that day. He always went to collect the goods himself, he knew Drel was too cowardly to run off with the stuff, but he didn’t trust him not to spend hours gambling away his wages on the bloody wolf pits. He’d head down there after lunch, it was a pleasant enough ride, now he’d got used to the riding part.

He heard footsteps on the stairs. What did the fetcher want now? He turned in his chair and was surprised to see a She-Elf at the bottom of the stairway. What in blazes? You didn’t see many Altmer in Riften. She was saying something about shutting down operations, ha, not likely! Riften was a goldmine, the people were miserable enough to want the skooma to get away from their lives, but had just enough money that they could actually afford to buy it. He kept the silly bitch talking, while he reached for the axe he kept under his desk. A flash of red came from her hand, though, and suddenly he was afraid. He didn’t understand why, but he had to get away, had to run, but she was blocking the doorway, and somehow he didn’t dare try to get past. Where was Drel? Why wasn’t he coming to help? He cowered away from her, pleading with her to just let him go, offering her money, skooma, whatever she wanted. She was suddenly far too big, too bright, and he screwed his eyes tightly shut, not wanting to try and make sense of the shape of her.

“I’ll ask you again, will you leave Riften, permanently, and tell me where to find your source?”

“Never!” Damn, why did he say that? What was going on, why was he so afraid, and why did he say the one thing that he knew would make her do what she did next?

The purple light arced from her hands and it hurt, badly, but by Azura, at least it was quick.

***

"Do we _have to_ spend the night here? It's awfully dark, and damp… dank, if you will."

"Lucien, I dunno about you, but I have no inclination to go out where it's pi… _pouring_ with rain, and try setting up a tent, with no hope of a fire, if I don't absolutely have to. Was bad enough taking the bodies outside."

Lucien reluctantly agreed Kaidan had a point, and looked over at Nerussa. "She's _really_ angry about this, isn't she?"

"It's nasty stuff, skooma. And she's got, well, a bit of a soft spot for Riften, I think." 

"Ah, well, you'd know all about…" Lucien caught the look on Kaidan's face and stopped speaking, just as Nerussa finished what she was doing and came back over to where they stood.

"I think that's all of it. Every damn vial, smashed to smithereens and mixed with the kitchen scraps. I don't think it'll be any danger to the people of Riften, now. The Jarl's wizard and Elgrim can treat any other addicts with cure poison potions for the next few days, hopefully it'll be enough."

"You're formidable, you know that? Remind me never to get on the wrong side of her, Lucien…"

Lucien couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't get him in trouble with at least one of them, so he decided to take himself off to set up his bedroll and review his latest notes. 

***

"Not another nightmare, I hope?" Kaidan was sitting at the bar where the leader of the gambling ring had been drinking when they entered Cragslane Cavern the evening before, reading. He looked at her with concern.

She smiled. "No, just couldn't get back to sleep, and it's too near dawn to keep trying. That's not one of the books I lent you, is it?"

"Er… no," he looked a little flustered, and put the book, face down on the counter, leaning his arm on top of it.

Nerussa raised an eyebrow. "Well, now I _really_ want to know what it is. I'm a very skilled thief, you know, I could just swipe it..."

He smirked, eyeing her with amusement. "I'd like to see you try…" 

She considered him for a moment, then leaned in close, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I've never seen a _human's_ ears go pink before…" His hand flew up to check, and she snatched the book, grinning with delight.

" _The Lusty Argonian Maid!_ Goodness!"

"Hey, it's classic literature, is that! With, erm… an intense plot and, uh… deep insight into the… human condition?" 

"It's classic _smut_ , is what it is!"

He groaned, and lowered his head onto the counter, turning his face to look up at her. "It was the only book I could find, after you snatched up the _Wolf Queen_. Not really my sort of thing, I hasten to add. Not keen on the, er… overtones." 

She looked blankly at him. "I've never actually read it…"

"Well...she's his servant. Possibly even a slave, given when and where it was written. Bit… coercive." 

"Oh. No, I can't really see you going for that. Not that I've given much thought to what you'd go for!" _shut up, shut up…_ Fortunately he still seemed too wrapped up in his own embarrassment to have noticed. "You're welcome to the other book, you only had to ask." 

He sat back up. "Well, if you're not sleeping either, we could always… Talk for a bit?" 

"That sounds nice. Was there anything you wanted to talk about?" She sat on the other stool, glancing sideways at him every so often as they spoke.

"You know what, I'd rather hear more about you. You've been muttering more than usual over your spell tomes lately… is that good, or bad?"

She felt her eyes go wide. "I… mutter?" It was her turn to rest her forehead briefly on the counter. It did actually help a little, strangely, though it made her back hurt, so she straightened up quickly.

"Only when you're really absorbed in something. Lucien does it, too. Figured it's probably normal, at least for non-evil mages."

"Huh. Well… Yes, things are going quite well, actually. I'm starting to grasp some interesting implications about the refraction of light and how it relates to certain Illusion spells…"

"Really? That's, er… go on!"

She ran her finger over one of the embossed letters on the cover of the book, thinking. "I think it may enable me to learn some spells which have been largely unavailable since the end of the Third Era…"

"Uh huh?"

She grinned at him. "You're not following this gibberish at all, are you?"

He laughed, his eyes glinting in the lamplight.

"You caught me. Nah, can't make head nor tail of it, but I enjoy listening to you talk about the things you love."

"Really? That's… not often been my experience."

"What can I say? I like how your mind works…" 

She was lost for words, but before she could come up with a reply, they were joined by a rather bleary-eyed Lucien.

"Morning, you two. Are we ready to head back to Riften?"


	69. Chapter 69

_**16th Sun's Dusk** _

I am now a Thane of two Holds. Wasn't really expecting it, but the Jarl was apparently impressed, both with my handling of the skooma ring and with the reports her steward had collected from her citizens while we were gone. It's a little less costly than being a Thane of Whiterun, too, or at least, it'll take a while to cost as much - I'm expected to pay rent on a rather sweet little house on the outskirts of the city, which has a door leading outside the city walls.

The Housecarl, here, Iona… I'm almost certain I've seen her in the Ragged Flagon, but perhaps I'll wait before raising the subject.

Speaking of, Mercer looked like he'd seen a ghost when I told him what Gulum-Ei said. He wants to meet somewhere called Snow Veil Sanctum, first thing tomorrow, so I'm just waiting for the keys to Honeyside and then we'll be taking the carriage to Windhelm.

***

“Is there any point in me arguing against you not letting us come along with you? I don’t like that Mercer Frey, he’s a wrong ‘un.”

She folded her arms across her chest, puffing herself up a little as she did so, though the effect was probably rather spoiled by a nasty lurch of the carriage jostling her. “Has there been any point the last few times you’ve told me not to do things?”

“It didn’t get me anywhere, no, but might I point out the flaming obvious fact that on one of those occasions you nearly _died?_ ”

“Yes, Kaidan. Nearly. And you all saved me. Look, I’ve got the Resonant Sphere. If something goes drastically wrong, I’ll signal Lucien, all right? Besides, Mercer’s hardly going to agree to it, is he? Paranoid enough as it is, that one. In case I haven’t been clear enough before, I don’t trust him much, either. But, he is the Guildmaster, and more to the point, I want to find out what’s going on.”

Kaidan looked to Lucien, who shrugged. “Don’t look at me, I don’t know the magic word to make her listen.”

***

She crossed the snow in the early morning light, vaguely noticing a hastily-assembled camp as she passed it, and approached Mercer by a circular structure, similar to the entrance of Ustengrav. Hopefully that similarity wasn’t a bad sign...

“Good, you’re finally here. I’ve scouted the ruins and I’m certain Karliah is still inside. Found her horse. She won’t be using it to escape…”

“So, what’s our next move? Just storm in and confront her?”

“That’s about the size of it. You go ahead, I’ll take the rear.”

“You want me to lead?”

“I already know there’s one backstabber in this ruin, I don’t especially want to give another the opportunity. And I was under the impression that I was in charge? You’re leading, I’m following. Does that seem clear enough? Good. And keep your eyes open, the last thing we want is you setting off some trap and alerting Karliah to our presence.”

“Fine. Is there anything else I should know about Karliah?”

As they headed toward the ruin, Mercer described the Dunmer thief as stubborn, but talented, bringing in more coin in a month than some of her colleagues managed in a year. He gave Nerussa an odd look at that point, then moved on, talking about how she had gotten “too close” to Gallus, who had called her his “little Nightingale”. That reminded Nerussa of something, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. A grim, determined expression appeared on his face as he approached the locked door, explaining the story of the last moments of Gallus’ life, and Karliah’s callous dumping of his corpse.

“I don’t know what would drive her to such an iniquitous act, but I intend to find out, before she draws her last breath.”

***

The ruin itself was nothing surprising, other than the fact that none of the draugr appeared to have been disturbed – even Nerussa with her Illusion spells wasn’t sure she’d be able to get past this many draugr undetected. Not that she had the chance to try, Mercer seemed in a fighting mood, and launched himself at Draugr after Draugr, twin blades whirling. One small corridor had four or five of the larger, tougher Draugr with long, curved horns on their helmets that Lucien had taken to calling “death lords”. Charming.

Mercer had been right, there were traps everywhere. Fortunately, Nerussa was used to spotting the things and even managed to use a few to her advantage against the angry Draugr. Eventually they came to a puzzle door, and Nerussa cursed, realising they hadn’t found a claw, not relishing the idea of retracing their steps and searching the place for one, or being unable to pass into what was likely to be the final chamber. She had been careful not to Shout in front of Mercer, and had been a little concerned when they found a Word Wall, but fortunately he was too busy looting a nearby chest to pay her any mind.

 _ **ZUN**_. Weapon, she was fairly certain… She wondered what that would do - she didn’t like the idea that it might cause her to summon some kind of bound sword. Not that she was likely to be testing it soon - she was planning to focus on Krii with the next Dragon they fought, the method having worked quite well with Feim. She still hadn’t tested that one yet, either...

She heard a familiar clunking sound and looked up, realising the door was opening – without a claw. “These doors have a weakness, you just have to know how to exploit it, quite simple, really. Karliah’s close, I’m certain of it. Let’s get moving.” Something told her to keep her hand in the pocket holding the Resonant Sphere.

As they moved into the large, open chamber, Nerussa felt something odd, but she couldn’t seem to look at the odd-feeling place, in fact, she couldn’t seem to move at all, instead her legs gave way beneath her and she found herself lying prone on the floor. She couldn’t even move her fingertip to activate the Sphere. A small shape, hooded, wielding a strange, black bow moved into the light, an arrow pointed at Mercer. They spoke for a few minutes, during which Nerussa’s suspicions were confirmed. Mercer had been the one who killed Gallus, framing Karliah, forcing her to run from the Guild. As they spoke, Nerussa finally remembered where she’d seen the word “nightingale” recently – a book in the Arcanaeum: Nightingales: Fact or Fiction? Something about certain members of the Thieves’ Guild supposedly being devotees of Nocturnal, one of the Daedric Princes.

As their discussion drew to a close, Mercer drew his blade, but before he could attack, Karliah had swallowed an invisibility potion, promised that their next meeting would be his undoing, and faded into the shadows. Mercer seemed to lack interest in chasing her, and instead approached Nerussa. He spoke for a few minutes, but she wasn’t really listening, her head was aching and she felt strangely detached from what was happening, even as he knelt down, dagger in hand and pressed the point to her throat. The world went black as the cool metal slid over the skin.


	70. Chapter 70

"You… Shot her. You. _Shot._ Her. With a poisoned _fucking_ arrow, and you let that _fucker_ Frey walk right over and… and slit her throat? And you expect me - us - to _thank_ you or something?" Her head was still swimming, and she couldn't seem to sit up, yet. Or open her eyes for very long.

"Now, Kaidan, she may have a point, the poison did, seemingly, slow Nerussa's heart enough to…"

They both sounded exhausted, she vaguely thought. Kaidan's voice was almost hoarse, and Lucien's trembled slightly as his words trailed off. She tried again to sit.

"I understand your reaction, seeing her like that… it must have been a shock. Thank you for helping me move her. And of course, thank _you_ for healing her - better than the potion I was going to try and get into her." The She-Elf from the ruin, Karliah.

"Oh, yes, another part of your genius plan. Get her to drink a healing potion with…" his voice caught, and he paused for a moment. "With her _fucking_ throat slit. Lucien, we need to get her away from this lunatic."

"Thank you, Kaidan," she managed, "but I'd rather like to hear what the lunatic has to say for myself." 

Kaidan appeared beside her, and helped her to sit up, her vision finally clearing. Lucien handed her a waterskin, and she drank, gratefully. The Dunmer squatted in front of her, her eyes filled with concern. 

"How are you feeling?" 

"Just perfect. You shot me, then?"<

"Yes, and it saved your life. The poison was meant for Mercer, obviously, but I couldn't get a clear shot, he's a scrawny little shit, and he was standing behind you. I made a split second decision to get you out of the way. If I hadn't, you'd be dead by now." 

"That's odd, because I distinctly remember the poison leaving me unable to defend myself as Mercer drew his dagger across my throat. Could you fill me in just a little further?" Karliah's violet eyes met her own. 

"The poison was a very specific type of paralytic, made using ingredients not seen since the Third Era. I spent years tracking down enough preserved components for one dose… when I shot you, it slowed your heart - after the initial burst of blood, enough to satisfy Frey, you hardly bled at all." 

Nerussa looked at Kaidan and then at Lucien. "She said you helped? What happened?" 

Kaidan's voice was still strained. "We saw Frey leave the place without you. Didn't take a Flavius to work out something had gone badly, enough that you hadn't even been able to activate that sphere thing…" 

Lucien took over. "We waited until he was out of sight and then came in after you. Of course, you were in the last possible chamber, isn't that always the way? We saw Karliah leaning over what we took to be your corpse, there was some brief… unpleasantness, Karliah managed to explain that you were still alive, but needed help. Fortunately, we were both able to help - I healed you up, and Kaidan carried you out." 

“Kaidan, did you attack Karliah?” 

“Er, actually, no. Lucien shot a firebolt at her.” Lucien looked guiltily at Nerussa. 

“Fortunate choice of spell, all things considered, me being Dunmer and all. Just a tickle, easily forgot, and understood.” 

Nerussa ran a hand through her hair, thinking. “So, obviously you were expecting Mercer to come alone, and the poison was for him. Why?” 

Karliah sighed, and moved from squatting on her heels to sitting on the snow. “I needed to capture him alive. He needs to pay for what he’s done, and that means confessing to the Guild.” 

“How were you going to get him to do that?” 

She reached into her jerkin and pulled out a slim volume. “My returning here to stage the ambush wasn’t simply for irony’s sake. I recovered this from Gallus’s… remains. His journal," she smiled fondly to herself, "I'm sure the information we need is in here." 

"What's the catch?" 

A wry smile played on Karliah's lips. "Gallus was annoyingly clever, sometimes. It's written in some sort of language I've never seen before. It's fragile, too. I'd like to show it to an old friend of mine in Winterhold, Enthir. He was the one outsider Gallus trusted with his Nightingale identity. He might have some idea how to make sense of it…" 

Lucien began to say something, but Nerussa shook her head. Something told her it was worth the brief detour, Enthir might be a useful Mer to work with, and she'd had his bloody staff strapped to her back for days anyway. 

"You or Mercer mentioned that word before. Nightingale. I've read… well, it was quite an annoying book, to be honest, little more than gossip." She was feeling much more herself, now, to her great relief. 

"There were three of us. Myself, Gallus and Mercer. We were a anonymous splinter of the Thieves Guild in Riften. Perhaps I'll tell you more about it later. Right now, you need to head for Winterhold with the journal and speak to Enthir. I've got something to finish up here, I'll meet you there as soon as I can." 


	71. Chapter 71

Calcelmo smiled as she approached. "Ah, it is so good to see you, youngling! I cannot thank you enough for helping with my… predicament. Is this a social call, or is there something I can do to repay you?"

"Actually, I do have a favour to ask…" 

When Enthir had opened the journal, she had instantly recognised the script as Falmer. At first, she had wondered whether it was a simple switch of alphabet, or possibly encyphered as well, much as she wrote certain passages of her own journal in Altmeris, using Daedric script and a cypher of her own devising. On looking more closely, however, she recognised a few words. Gallus had apparently genuinely been writing in Falmeris. 

Nerussa had studied a little Falmeris, but Calcelmo was far closer to fluent, so when Enthir suggested she try and access his research material, she agreed. More or less. What would be the point of trying to dig through his work for some kind of translation guide, when she could simply ask him to help? Not to mention the absurdity of hoping to find some reference book that would magically make sense of the words, or whatever it was Enthir seemed to think she was going to find. Obviously not a linguist, that one - Falmeris had a complex syntax and, if it was anything like other ancient Meric languages, most likely tricky word endings and emphatic strokes which could adjust the meaning of a word substantially. You couldn’t simply pick up a list of vocabulary and work out what the text meant.

Calcelmo was fascinated when she presented him with the journal, and promised complete secrecy. 

“This is a simply fascinating artefact, youngling. Some of the grammar is a little… irksome, shall we say, but it’s still nigh-fluent… And the writer was an Imperial, you say? Absolutely intriguing… Still keeping your own journal, are you? Good girl - I’ll wager you have rather more to write now, hm?” He smiled at her in an avuncular sort of way, and glanced over to where Kaidan and Lucien were waiting, the merest flicker of a raised eyebrow. She blushed a little, and waved a hand at him to stop.

“So, I hate to rush you, but do you think you could write down a translation of the most… salient points?”

“Of course, of course, too much of a hurry to let an old Mer have his little jest, hm? Aicantar! Fetch me a quill and some decent paper, not that awful, scratchy stuff you use.”

***

Back in Winterhold, Karliah was delighted with Calcelmo’s work. “Well, this proves everything - so long as they believe this is a genuine translation... but that signature and seal should be good enough for any of them. Mercer was obviously stealing from the guild, and he killed Gallus to cover his tracks…” Her voice caught for a moment, but she recovered and went on. “Hopefully they won’t pay too much attention to the part about the Nightingales. He needs to pay for that, too.”

“I take it there’s no point in my asking about this ‘Twilight Sepulcher’?”

“All in good time. We need to head straight to the Guild, before Mercer can fill their heads with more lies!”

Nerussa thought for a moment. “Actually, it might be better to wait. Let Mercer think he succeeded in killing me, and frightening you off. Give him time to get back to his usual complacency…”

“Smart girl, your friend.” Karliah nodded to Kaidan and Lucien, who were both standing by the door of the Frozen Hearth’s cellar. “So, how does next Morndas sound?”

“That would work, yes - I’d suggest the morning, he’s rarely in the Cistern before early evening.”

They shook hands, and Nerussa and her friends left the tavern to get back on the carriage. As they arrived in Windhelm, a now-familiar young man approached, smiling as always. “Been looking all over, you know how it goes. Got a letter for you… here you are!” He handed her a pale lavender envelope, and dashed off.

_My darling niece,_

_I trust this finds you well. Your uncle Saltar has made arrangements for your little birthday surprise, which I am certain you will find most agreeable. Auntie Tarigoth can tell you more. Look forward to seeing you soon,_

_Uncle S._

Not his most sophisticated subterfuge, but bland enough to evade close examination, she hoped. Auntie Tarigoth… She laughed, of course. _Riverwood_. So, he’d presumably tracked down Delphine’s contact at the Embassy, and let them believe they were getting one over on him, knowing Saltar. Besides, she doubted anyone other than perhaps Elenwen even knew Altmeris well enough to understand the little joke off-hand...

“Change of plans, I think. We need to take another carriage to Riverwood.”

***

“Excellent timing, Dragonborn, I was about to send for the courier. Good news - I’ve secured you an invitation to one of the Embassy parties. You’ll need to spruce yourself up a little, but it’s not until the last Fredas of the month, so you’ve got time.” She looked doubtfully at Nerussa’s travelling gear. “The party is held by their ‘First Emissary’, Elenwen. Once you’re inside, you’ll need to sneak away, and find your way to where she keeps her secret files. I don’t think this kind of information is likely to be in the main records room… My Embassy contact, he’s… not up for this level of risk in a mission, but he can help you. Name’s Malborn. Wood Elf. As you can imagine, plenty of reason to hate the Thalmor. You can trust him. I’ll get word for him to meet you in Solitude at the Winking Skeever, on the afternoon of the 28th. Meet me at the stables at sundown. I’d advise you steer clear of the Sleeping Giant until then, best we not be seen together. Any questions?”

Nerussa blinked. “No, I think that was quite… comprehensive. All right, the 28th it is, well done for arranging this all so quickly!” She turned away, quickly, so Delphine wouldn’t see the smirk that she couldn’t quite stop her face arranging itself into. 

Outside the tavern, Lucien turned to her. "Are we spies now? We're spies now. We're spies who've been sent by a spy to meet a spy who'll send us spying. How exciting!" Nerussa chuckled, and they turned toward the bridge out of the village.

The afternoon was cool, but sunny, and they had a pleasant walk, right up until they heard a roar in the distance. Hurrying along the road past the bridge, they saw a Dragon - smaller than ones they’d seen before, with curious mottled silver and violet markings to its scales. It was circling the Pelagia farm, and she saw distant figures running toward the farm building. One made it inside, but the other was snatched up by the beast as it dove by. A lifeless form was tossed aside like a dog’s unwanted toy as they ran towards the farm, and flames spilled from the Dragon’s maw, scorching the bare ground. 

Kaidan’s war bow was already drawn, and she heard Lucien charge his spells behind her. She readied Lightning Bolts in both hands, crossing the ground toward the beast as quickly as she could. It turned its face to her, snarling, just in time to be hit square in the muzzle by Kaidan’s arrow. 

_**YOL TOOR SHUL**_ Flames erupted towards them again. The Dragon was a little out of range, so only the very last flickers of the Shout reached them. Nerussa was intrigued to notice it didn’t hurt as much as she would have expected. She had had the same thought in Snow Veil Sanctum with the numerous magic-using and Shouting Draugr, but this was no time to speculate, she told herself.

 _ **FO**_. Maybe not as intense as the Dragon’s fiery breath, but she had closed the distance enough that she actually hit the beast with the ice that swirled forth from her mouth. It was still rather unpleasant, but she was at least getting used to it. Another arrow hit the beast’s wing, along with a couple of Lightning Bolts from Lucien. It shrugged off the pain, snapping at the arrow’s shaft and spitting it out.

Glaring at the three of them, it flapped its wings lazily, ascending some distance off the ground, where it hovered for a few moments, watching them. Lucien and Kaidan attacked again, and the beast turned toward Lucien, a horrible grimace on its face. She rather thought the creature was… grinning. It landed once more, and slunk menacingly forward.

“So, a wizard, are you, _mal lir?”_ It chuckled, and Lucien audibly swallowed. He was so much braver than when they had first met, but she couldn’t blame him for being afraid in this situation. Even her own legs were a little unsteady. 

“Yes, actually. Lucien Flavius, at your service. Well, actually, no. At _her_ service.” The Dragon glanced at Nerussa, then turned its gaze back to the Imperial. 

“I _enjoy_ wizards. Especially when I swallow one whole, they tend to do all sorts of interesting things in my stomach… for a little while.”

Nerussa was nearly ready to Shout again, but before she could, Kaidan stepped in front of Lucien. 

“Piss off, wyrm. He’s _our_ wizard, and no bloody dragon is eating him without my say-so.”

The Dragon reared up angrily, roaring into the sky. As it did so, Kaidan’s blade sank into its exposed belly. The two mages shot more Lightning Bolts at the Dragon’s wings, well clear of Kaidan, whose foot was braced against the Dragon to pull out his sword. 

“ _Goltsedov?_ Intriguing. Tell me, so-called Dovahkiin, where did you find such companions?”

_**FO __**_ __

__“Pah, insolent hatchling. No _drem_ for _Tinvaak? Very well…” It lifted itself into the air once more, but its flight was less smooth, she noticed. She emptied her mind as best she could, channelling the greater pool of magicka her blood sometimes gave her - whatever the Thalmor might think - and charged the spell she had finished learning in the tavern the night before.__ _

___She aimed squarely at the Dragon’s chest and muttered a prayer to whoever was in charge of luck that it would hit. A shard of crystal formed at the spot where her spell hit the beast, and when she cast again, it exploded. The Dragon slumped to the ground, not quite dead, but very much the worse for wear. It spat out a _ **YOL**_ at Kaidan, who stepped, cat-like, out of the way._ _ _

___To her surprise, the angry yell she heard next came from Lucien, who had drawn his sword and was barrelling forward at an impressive rate. Before she knew what was happening, he had somehow leapt onto the Dragon’s neck, and was holding on for dear life with all but three of his limbs. As the Dragon swept its head side to side, enraged, and Nerussa and Kaidan looked on in astonishment, Lucien drove his blade into the Dragon’s neck. The beast kept trying to throw him off for another moment or two, before collapsing, motionless to the ground. Lucien scrambled off just in time, before the thing burst into heatless flame and withered away to bones._ _ _

___Nerussa let the Soul wash over her, focusing her mind on the Word she wanted to fully learn. _Krii_. Kill. Her mind reeled as true understanding swept over her, and she knew this was not a Shout to use casually. She caught Kaidan watching, a look of concern mixed with wonder on his face, and she tried to smile reassuringly, although she felt a little numb, if truth be told._ _ _

___“You wouldn’t actually… give your say-so, would you, Kaidan?” Lucien asked in a rather tired voice, as the two men checked the remains for salvageable parts._ _ _

___“Nah. Probably not.”_ _ _

___Nerussa drifted over to where she thought the body might have landed. The person the Dragon had flung aside like an old shoe. She found the remains of a middle-aged Nord man - a farm hand, she supposed - crumpled against the side of the windmill at the edge of Pelagia’s land. Simply-dressed. She did her best to move his body into a more… dignified position, and walked quietly to knock on the door of the farmhouse._ _ _


	72. Chapter 72

Auryen had been particularly pleased with the selection of items they had brought from Riverfall Lodge, particularly the mask of Volsung, the Dragon Priest in Volskygge. He had also been pleasantly surprised, he said, by the hard work and dedication shown by Wujeeta. Nerussa had been apologetic about sending her with no notice, but Auryen had waved away the apology, saying it really had been a favour to him. 

“Young Lydia has also been inordinately helpful, moving boxes, and repairing the odd somewhat wobbly display unit. Honestly, I think this partnership is working out wonderfully so far, don’t you?”

Nerussa had been glad to hear it, and more than a little stunned when he had offered the group the use of a small, furnished apartment on the premises, although it wasn’t _quite_ ready yet, he explained apologetically. 

***

“Ah, Nerussa, we’ve been expecting you! Sister, dear, do clear the space…” Endarie rolled her eyes at her sister, and began shooing everyone but Nerussa out of the door. Taarie turned back to Nerussa. “Now, dear, your ‘uncle’ has arranged for everything, you are to have your heart’s desire, and nothing less, with no thought for vulgarities such as cost. Thanks to your efforts with Jarl Elisif, we have been able to order some rather wonderful fabrics from Cloudrest and High Rock, so there is plenty to choose from.”

“Saltar did that? Goodness. He’s…” She blushed. “He’s not my uncle, obviously, but he’s also not my _‘uncle’_...” Taarie brightened considerably at that, and she didn’t say anything for a while, busying herself with collecting bolts of what were, indeed, exquisite fabrics, to show off. 

“Well… a Mer like him, must be… entangled, yes?” Nerussa smiled at the term. Endarie had vanished upstairs to collect some ‘special pieces’ from the loft, and she decided to be direct.

“He’s unmarried, and unassigned. He’s also,” she dropped her voice, “something of a handful, by all accounts. But he’s a good Mer at heart.”

Taarie laughed, not a bad Alinor tinkle, though with a little too much character to be truly ‘acceptable’. Nerussa liked it. “Oh, my dear, if we are to be frank with one another, I am long past being concerned about fidelity, so long as his heart is in the right place.”

Nerussa chuckled, and they got on with the business of choosing fabrics and discussing designs.

***

They took the carriage back to Whiterun that evening, Nerussa being reluctant to risk further nightmares. She hoped whatever it was that had caused them when she was near Solitude would have… dissipated by the time Auryen’s apartment was ready for them to use. 

Thankfully, the road to Riverfall Lodge was free of Dragons, this time, and they arrived home to much excitement from Vigilance. Summer was still in low spirits, it seemed, and Nerussa spent some time sitting with the two dogs in the kitchen, trying to cheer Summer a little. They had no firm plans for the next two days, beyond Nerussa and Lucien having a number of spell tomes they wanted to get through before their trip to Riften the following Morndas, and Nerussa decided she would make time to take the dogs for a long run each morning and evening. 

Just as she was thinking of heading to bed, Kaidan padded softly down the stairs, barefoot, his hair loose. He seemed surprised to find her there, and came to sit with the three of them.

“Thought I’d see how Summer was getting on. Poor lad, he’s obviously pining, eh?” His eyes met hers. “So, you’re really going back to the Sculptor on Morndas? How are you feeling about getting your real face back?”

She leaned back against the table behind her, considering the question. “It won’t exactly _be_ my real face, will it? I mean, hopefully it’ll look the same, but it’ll be just as… constructed as this one.”

He smiled. “That’s not really what I mean… I’ve known one other person who’s been to a Face Sculptor. When I was a lad, one of the villages we used to sometimes stop off at for provisions… There was a kid there who... everyone thought was a girl. We were quite friendly, I was a little younger. Anyway, after I… After Brynjar died, I found myself back in that village, and this lad of about nineteen comes over to me, talking away like he knew me. After a bit, I admitted I weren’t quite sure who he was.” Kaidan shifted slightly where he sat, taking care to keep his hand in just the right spot behind Summer’s ear. 

“So he told this joke that my friend used to tell, some absolute groaner, and I realised, it was the same kid. His family had come into a bit of money and they’d used it to take him to a Face Sculptor - this was over in High Rock, mind - and by the Divines, he was so much happier than I’d ever seen him. _That_ was his real face. And your old face? By my reckoning, that’s yours, whether it’s naturally that way, or… put back.”

She smiled at him. “I thought you didn’t approve of Face Sculptors?” 

“I’m not fond of magic, you know that. And I wasn’t keen on the… trickery, I suppose, behind your visit - yes, _I know_ , you had a very good reason for it, and no doubt it’s made things a lot easier for all of us, the past few weeks. I’m just a little surprised that you’ve chosen now to go back - surely this is the time you really need to go unnoticed?”

Summer turned around and settled again with his face in Nerussa’s lap, his big blue eyes staring up at her. She stroked his soft ears, as she considered how to answer.

“I think that, even looking as… different as I do, there is a high chance Elenwen would recognise me, even if she doesn’t already know exactly where I am - and, well, that’s a real possibility, too, although I don’t _think_ she does. I’d rather look her in the eye, fully myself. And… I’m sort of getting fed up of running. I think it may be time to live up to my name…”

He looked puzzled at that, and she smiled, meeting his gaze briefly, before looking away. “Oh, it’s… it’s silly, probably. I like finding patterns in words and letters, that’s why languages fascinate me so. Well, Nerussa, a name I picked more or less at random, the first female Altmer’s name that popped into my head when Brynjolf asked me my name… It corresponds rather neatly to three Dragon words, much like the name they have, in fact. Neh, ru, sah. Direct translation, word for word, would be something like ‘never run ghost’ or, ‘illusion’. Not a fan of word for word translations, though, you lose the… the poetry of things. So I’d translate it more as something like ‘the shadow who never runs’.” She blushed, and buried her face in the soft fur on the dog’s neck.

Kaidan was quiet for a few moments. “So, if ‘fus ro dah’ is ‘Unrelenting Force’, would that make you, what, ‘The Unrelenting Shadow’?”


	73. Chapter 73

As they approached the vault, Brynjolf, Delvin and Vex muttered amongst themselves. Nerussa could make out snatches of their conversation over the hubbub of the Cistern.

“...a vault that needs two keys? It’s imp…”

“...best puzzle locks money can…”

“He didn’t need to pick the lock,” Karliah put in.

They looked back at her, perplexed, but kept walking.

“What’s she on about?” Delvin crossed his arms, standing by the door of the vault, and looked at Karliah, his face stern.

“Use your key, Delvin, we’ll open up the vault and find out the truth.” 

Delvin sighed, reached into his pocket, and approached the door. He stood in front of it, blocking their view with his body, and as far as Nerussa could make out, turned the key in the lock, holding it there and using his other hand to press and slide certain of the switches, small panels and other strange elements that covered the door. After he was done, Delvin stepped aside, motioning to Brynjolf to finish the job. 

As the door swung open, Brynjolf swore, dashing inside.

“By the Eight! It’s gone - everything’s gone! Get in here, all of you!” Vex dashed in, followed by the rest of the group. The vault was in disarray - chests stood empty with their lids wide open, tattered sacks and empty barrels littered the floor, along with scattered papers and empty wine bottles. 

Delvin stood in the centre of the room, a look of horror on his face. “The gold, the jewels... It’s _all_ gone?” Brynjolf stared into one of the more ornate chests, saying nothing. Vex drew her dagger, her face twisted in anger. 

“That son of a bitch! I’ll kill him.”

“Vex, put it away, lass. _Now._ We can’t afford to lose our heads… We need to stay calm, focus.”

“Do what he says, Vex. This ain’t helping.” Delvin’s voice was back to its usual lazy drawl.

“Fine,” she muttered, sheathing her blade. “We do it your way. For now.”

Brynjolf sent the others to keep an eye out for Mercer, and turned to Nerussa, demanding an explanation. She told him what had happened in Snow Veil Sanctum, lifting her chin and showing the pale silver scar that Lucien hadn’t been able to fully heal. Showed him the journal again, which he read more slowly now he was a little calmer. She and Karliah explained all they could, as Brynjolf listened intently, his eyes on Karliah the whole time, the still-distrustful look turning to growing respect.

“Trying to make Mercer look bad in front of Maven, eh? Clever lass.” He still seemed unconvinced by the Nightingale part of things, but Karliah evidently decided not to push too hard, at least for now.

“Mercer hasn’t been seen in Riften for days, but he’s bound to come back soon. I think one of us,” he looked directly at Nerussa, “needs to have a look around his house, see if there’s any clues as to what he’s planning next.”

***

Thankfully, Galathil just sardonically pointed out that it wasn’t as though she had other appointments to reschedule, and waved Nerussa away when she apologised and explained she would be back in an hour or two.

Mercer’s home, a gift from Maven, naturally enough, was a large affair near the city gate. The guard, a rather impressionable Nord named Vald, was easily enough convinced that she had a message from Mercer that Vald should go to Markarth immediately, and she promised to take _very_ good care of the ring of keys he entrusted her with. She cursed at the realisation that the contraption that lowered the ramp up to the attic door was not going to be triggered by her carefully-aimed rocks, and briefly thought of dashing back to Honeyside to ask Kaidan for some help. 

She pushed that idea away, though, he’d only try and insist on coming in with her, and anyway, it would hardly be inconspicuous, a large, heavily armoured man with a war bow crossing the market and ducking into the back alleys with the new Thane. She sighed, and assessed the height of the wall beside her. _Fine._ She tried to remember Senna’s attempts at teaching her acrobatics when she had been an elfling. Hooking one hand around the post at the top of the wall, she braced one foot against the dull brick, a little below waist height, and muttered a little prayer for luck as she _pulled_. She was rather astonished to find it worked, and her body swung into the motion, without really even knowing what she was doing, suddenly she was standing on top of the wall, level with the platform by the attic door, and - rather wishing she could Shout silently, because Whirlwind Sprint might be useful at this point - she leapt across the gap, scrambling slightly, but landing in one piece. 

After her heart stopped racing, she unlocked the door and slipped inside, charging her Invisibility spell. She had expected more guards, the way Mercer acted, he seemed the type to surround himself with them, and he certainly could afford it. Just a couple of thugs in rough armour in the whole manor, but as she completed a second circuit of the place, carefully staying out of their way, it became clear there was nothing useful - or all that valuable - to be found.

She was close to giving up and going back to Brynjolf with the bad news, when she noticed something off about a wardrobe near the barred back door. It reminded her of Hjerim, though thankfully, there was no corresponding stench of decay on the faint breeze that drifted towards her as she examined it more closely. Sure enough, glancing over her shoulder to check that the thugs hadn’t wandered in, she was able to slide the back panel aside, and slip through into a narrow passage. She closed the doors and panel behind her, before casting Candlelight and climbing down into the gloom. 

This was more like it. A series of hidden doors, traps, and half-starved skeevers, through which she progressed cautiously, but at a decent pace. Finally, she found herself in a small, musty room, sparsely furnished aside from an ornate display case, holding a pale, blue glass sword and sheath, which she fastened to her belt as securely as the robes would really allow. Something seemed familiar about the blade, as though she’d read a description of it somewhere. On a simple wooden table, she found some papers and a small fortune in gems and jewellery. She pocketed the lot, leaving only the copy of _The Lusty Argonian Maid_ behind, and stared at the rather large bust on the table. Delvin would _love_ that, she thought, and Auryen might well have some interest in a replica… 

Some time later, she found her way into the Ragged Flagon, lopsided from the weight of the bust under her arm, and made a beeline for Delvin, who was even more pleased with her find than she would have expected, almost covering the cost of her appointment with Galathil outright.

Brynjolf looked dejected as she approached. He and the others had found no leads on Mercer’s whereabouts, so he was relieved when Nerussa handed over the plans she had found. His relief quickly turned to outrage as he realised what Mercer intended. 

“He’s planning ‘one last heist’. The Eyes of the Falmer - priceless relics of some kind, and Gallus’s pet project. They were recently uncovered in some Dwemer ruin, and are being prepared for transport to some university in High Rock, it seems. Next Fredas - the fifth of Evening Star - they’re setting sail, so he’s planning to intercept the transfer from where they’re currently held, a hidden vault in the wilds near Solitude.”

“Then we have to stop him.”

“Agreed. If he gets his hands on them, he’ll be set for life, and gone for good. He’s taken everything we have, and going after the Eyes… Well, he’s just laughing at us, isn’t he? One last insult. For now, we need to speak to Karliah. I’ve… made amends for her treatment, as much as I really can. Twenty-five years is a long time… Come on, lass, let’s go see what she has to say.”

Karliah was waiting in the centre of the Cistern, and as they approached, she beckoned them to follow. Standing in the shadows near the vault, she asked Brynjolf what Mercer’s fate should be. “In the absence of a new Guildmaster, the decision falls to you.”

“Aye, lass. I’ve been thinking of nothing else. Mercer Frey tried to kill both of you, he betrayed the Guild, murdered Gallus and let us believe it was you… He made us question our future. He needs to die.”

Karliah nodded slowly, and looked cautiously around. “We must be careful, Brynjolf. Mercer is a Nightingale. An Agent of Nocturnal.”

“So, the stories are all true, then? The Nightingales, Nocturnal… Even the Twilight Sepulchre?” His voice grew hushed as he spoke.

“Yes. That’s why we need to… prepare ourselves, and meet Mercer on an equal footing. I need some time alone first, but can you both meet me, a week from now… No, make it a week tomorrow, at dusk?” They nodded, and she gave simple directions to a meeting-place nearby. 

“Until next week… Shadow hide you both.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, sod the idea that Mercer's 'last great heist' is a flipping dungeon crawl. Not entirely sure how well this will work out when I get to actually writing it, but it can't be as silly as the original, right? Right?


	74. Chapter 74

The moons were waning, but they still glowed brightly in the sky as she finally emerged into the evening, her restored face carefully obscured by a deep, silk hood she had bought from Taarie. She climbed wearily up the steps by the Orphanage and turned to walk past the Keep, when there was a flurry of movement and someone ran straight into her. She heard screams from the Orphanage, and looked down at the someone, instinctively grabbing their arm. 

A child? No, a particularly small and angry Breton woman. 

“Get your hands off me, I need to…” Nerussa quickly cast Command on the woman, and marched the pair of them through the marketplace and into Honeyside before any guards even bothered to investigate the commotion, judging by her last glance over her shoulder as they turned down the street between the tavern and the meadery.

The woman sat in the chair opposite Nerussa and glared at her. Nerussa had asked the others, including Iona, to go to the tavern for a while. Something about this girl made her feel… strangely protective.

“Why is this any of your concern? I did what I did, I would have been on a carriage to… anywhere by now if not for you.”

“Well, I could point out that I’m a Thane of the Rift, and that probably makes it my business, would that help?” 

“Not really.” She folded her arms. Nerussa folded her own, and waited. “Oh, _fine._ If you must know, I… I went into the Orphanage, thinking perhaps I could make a donation, or offer some help for a few days. I have nothing better to do, after all. The young lady who met me at the door was very nice, but I overheard the ‘Headmistress’,” her face screwed up angrily at the word, “talking to the children. She was so… Have you been in there? The people here call her Grelod the Kind. Making a joke of how she treats the children. That little girl can’t be more than six or seven, and one of the boys is even younger, I think…”

She took a sip of the glass of wine Nerussa had poured. Considered her next words, by the look of her.

“I just… I was so angry. I cannot _stand_ seeing children mistreated. I wasn’t intending to kill her, I just… I walked right over to her and punched the bitch in her face. Next thing I know, she’s lying on the floor, dead. Must have broken her neck when she fell? I don’t know, I didn’t exactly stick around to find out. And, well, here we are.”

“What exactly did you see?” Nerussa realised, guiltily, that she had not really thought of visiting the Orphanage, nor offering any kind of donation. Perhaps she would have had the same reaction, judging by what the Breton woman was saying, the verbal abuse that the children were so painfully obviously used to, and the open talk - in front of a stranger, no less - of physical abuse, as well.

When the Breton had finished talking, Nerussa stood up. “I don’t think you should risk going back out there tonight. The guard’s bound to have noticed something’s going on by now, and they’re unlikely to hear you out if they do catch you. You can spend the night here, just a bedroll in my housecarl’s room, but it’s warm and dry, and in the morning, you can slip out of that door, if you cover your hair, you should be able to slip round to the stable and take the carriage without any guard paying you too much attention. What’s your name, then?”

The Breton looked exhausted, and just sat for a moment. “My name is… Ana.” Right, and Nerussa had always been Nerussa. She studied the woman briefly. Cheap, ill-fitting clothes, but her voice and posture suggested that wasn’t usual for her. Her hair was nearly pure white, hence the suggestion to cover it - a tiny, white-haired Breton? How many of those came through the Rift? 

“All right, Ana. My friends and my Housecarl should be back soon. Let’s get that bedroll set up.”

***

Nerussa wasn’t especially surprised to learn that the Breton had slipped away in the night. She had left a small pile of coin on the table for her, and the surprise was that it was undisturbed. As before, she spent the next two days indoors, though there was far less sunlight to worry about than there had been at the end of Hearthfire. She had decided, if any questions were asked about the rather drastic change in her appearance, to simply brazen it out. “Oh, I felt like a change, you know!” She was Altmer, she was sure she could pass it off as an eccentricity.

Kaidan was acting a little strangely, she noticed on the second day. He didn’t seem annoyed, or anything, which was good but he kept… dropping things. And whenever she looked round, he seemed to be, well, staring at her. She supposed that, whatever he’d said about this being her real face, it was still going to take him a little time to get used to seeing it again - after all, for most of their friendship, he had seen the pretty, golden-skinned, Alinor society-ready face she had asked Galathil to give her. It was probably a little strange seeing your friend with a new face. Truth be told, she was a little startled when she caught sight of her reflection in the glass of the window. Funny, how you could get used to something.

Lucien, of course, had taken even more notes, muttering crossly about not having left enough space next to the first set. He was intrigued to note that Galathil had left the faint scar on her throat intact. “Could she not remove that? I would have thought…”

“Oh, I asked her not to. Can’t quite explain why, but… It’s part of me, I suppose?” Lucien nodded, and made another note. 

***

On Tirdas morning, they took the carriage to Solitude, with a stop to collect Lydia and the dogs from Riverfall Lodge. When they arrived in the city, Lucien and Nerussa headed in to the Skeever while the others went to see if Auryen needed any more help moving things.

As the door closed behind them, Nerussa watched, stunned, as Lucien cleared his throat, took a step forward, clasped his hands together and began to speak, in a loud, clear voice.

“Good afternoon everyone! If I could have your attention, please. Has anyone seen a shifty-looking Wood Elf? No? Nobody?” He turned to Nerussa. “Looks like we’re on our own!” He seemed surprised at the look on her face.

She dragged him into the alcove where she had spoken to Gulum Ei, and spoke through gritted teeth. “What in Oblivion was that?”

“What was what?”

“You can’t just walk in and yell at everyone about our secret contact!” She looked around the busy tavern, she couldn’t see anyone who immediately stood out, but then, Thalmor Agents were typically quite good at not standing out.

“I was just trying to chivvy things along! It’s lunchtime, after all, place is quite crowded. Could take us ages to find him!”

She ran a hand through her hair.

“The Thalmor could have Agents here. They could be onto us, now.” His expression turned from indignation to worry.

“Ah. That’s… a good point.” Before she could stop him, he stepped out of the alcove and spoke again.

“Hello again, everyone! Just to clarify, when I mentioned we were looking for a shifty Wood Elf, that was definitely _nothing_ to do with spying on the Thalmor. All clear? Excellent. As you were.”

She stood, dumbfounded, as he turned back and smiled broadly at her. “Better?”

“No,” she hissed, “ _even worse_.” 

“Divines, there’s no pleasing you, is there? I don’t suppose I should make another announcement?” 

She pressed both hands against her face. “Please, don’t.”

“Fine, fine. Go do your spying thing. Sorry for trying to help…” She spread her fingers a little and glared at him. He held up his hands and slunk over to the bar to ask about the day’s menu.

When she was reasonably sure the tavern patrons had lost interest in the two weird foreigners, she gave herself a little shake, ran her fingertips over the embroidery on her robe for a few moments, and walked casually across the floor, keeping an eye out for, well, a shifty Wood Elf. Thankfully, he did not appear to have heard Lucien’s little announcements, obviously too nervous to pay attention.

“ _You’re_ who she picked? I hope she knows what she’s doing...” He looked Nerussa up and down as she took the seat next to him. “Here’s the deal, I can smuggle a few items into the Embassy for you. Don’t expect to be able to bring anything else with you, other than the clothes you show up in. The Thalmor take security very seriously, though with that accent, I guess you know that.”

She made a non-committal face, and handed him the bundle she had prepared. A mostly empty pack, with just a few potions in her vial holder, a couple of pieces of enchanted jewellery, and her lockpicks and shiv. She was probably forgetting something, but she’d manage. The whole thing was folded up and tied shut with the leather cord of the pack. He looked, well, marginally less unimpressed than before.

“You’ve no idea the amount of rubbish I’ve had people ask me to smuggle into places before now,” was all he said. “You know when and where to meet Delphine, I take it? Good, then I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow. I hope I don’t regret this…” With that, he was gone, and she was soon joined with a slightly more apologetic Lucien, who brought over two plates of roast lamb and grilled leeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks to Elsa for letting me include their awesome Skyrim OC (Ana.)


	75. Chapter 75

“Endarie, dear, _please_ tell me you’ve finished hemming that gown? The client will be here to check the fit any time, now.”

Taarie’s older sister rolled her eyes, removing the pins she had been holding between her lips to respond.

“Sister, dearest, please have a little more faith in me. The hemming is done, the lining is perfectly set into each piece, and every other aspect of the gown that you have asked about this morning is _just so_. The _client_ will be the envy of all the guests when they see her in a _real_ gown. Who knows, Jarl Elisif might even be inspired to include something a little less… Nordic in her next order?”

Taarie smiled, tightly. She still hadn’t entirely figured Nerussa out, which bothered her. The name was certainly assumed, but then neither of the sisters could really judge her on _that_ count. And she certainly couldn’t deny the upturn in the quality of Radiant Raiment’s clientele since the young She-Elf’s trip to the Blue Palace. They still stocked a small supply of ordinary smocks and breeches for the occasional commoner who felt flush enough for a brand new outfit, but the majority of their storage space now held beautiful, rich silks, velvets and brocades, and it looked as though they would soon need to order more.

She gazed at the gown as Endarie hung it up behind the counter, ready for Nerussa’s arrival. It had been a long time since she had envied one of their customers.

Taarie was rudely brought back from a pleasant daydream about visiting High Rock with Saltar in a remarkably similar dress, by the most terrifying sound she had ever heard. A roar, unlike that of a mere beast. The door of the shop flew open, and several panicked Nords ran inside. Endarie made a move to shoo them out, but her sister grabbed her arm.

“Sister, we have _customers_. Time for some of your famed hospitality, dear.”

***

Jaree-Ra drew back into the shadows. An Elf, a Nord woman, and two men stood nearby, talking under their breath about something to do with a party. Ugh, how boring. Everything in this city was so _dull_. Still, they looked wealthy enough, perhaps if they wandered closer, he could… _Xuth!_ It was _that_ Elf. He remembered her, had almost approached her about the lighthouse job, back in the summer. Ended up taking on some big, dumb Nord. Easy pickings. He’d been less bored for quite some time after that.

Suddenly, the Elf and her companions stopped talking, seeming frozen on the spot. And then Jaree-Ra saw it, too. A shadow, like those of the hawks that always circled the city, but far, far bigger, and moving more lazily.

Nobody else seemed to have noticed yet, but the group in front of him were readying weapons and spells. The three humans drew bows from their backs, the Elf’s hands glowed with purple, crackling light, their eyes all trained on some spot Jaree-Ra could not quite see.

The Elf yelled over to the people in the marketplace to run, get indoors. For a moment, they mostly looked amused, but that didn’t last long.

The people of Solitude scattered, terrified, as they encountered the city’s first Dragon. It swooped so low that he was sure it would crash into something, yet somehow that didn’t happen. The look on the face of the female Elf made him rather glad he hadn’t asked her to help with his lighthouse problem, he suspected that she would not have been so easily dealt with as Grognak, or whatever he’d been called. Jaree-Ra slipped behind the alchemist’s shop, and let himself into her cellar. No sense putting himself at risk…

***

“Xarxes’ arse! If you’re not going to run, I hope you’ve all got bows and arrows”

A surprising number of the people in the marketplace did, it seemed. Funny what you didn’t notice, sometimes. She quickly counted heads, seven archers, including three guards. She hoped that would be enough.

It wasn’t attacking yet, just circling around. Making its presence known. Looking for, yes, a perching spot. It turned, more smoothly than it should have been capable of, landing on the roof of the Winking Skeever. It surveyed the crowd briefly, before turning its gaze directly on Nerussa. Well, at least after this, she wouldn’t have to explain the whole Dragonborn business to the locals, she supposed. One way, or another.

 _“So. You are here.”_ She had learned long ago that the best way to understand her other languages was not to attempt translation into Tamrielic but simply to, well, try to understand. Since Saarthal, she had been able to understand the Dragon Tongue in written form, and likewise, this was far easier than the conversation between Alduin and Sahloknir. Still, she was surprised to find herself answering in kind.

_“As are you. What should I call you? I understand we are siblings?”_

_“Presumptuous worm! You are **nothing** , yet you take for yourself the name of Dovah?”_

She considered this. Somehow, protesting that she had done no such thing did not feel like the appropriate response.

_“Of course. Was I not blessed with this gift? Have I not slain four of our great brethren in only a few moments, in the scheme of things? Tell me, brother, how many of us had you killed at nine weeks of age?”_

_“Mirmulnir was weak. Sahloknir barely out of his tomb. The others, pathetic cowards, a mountain-skulker and a farm-botherer. Look closely at me, little worm. Am I like them?”_

She looked. She was dimly aware of the surrounding Nords exchanging puzzled fragments of conversation, and she heard a familiar voice approaching, arguing with someone. Oghma’s _tits._ Tullius!

But for now, she looked at the Dragon. It was certainly larger than the others. Its scales were a shimmering bronze, with small black areas along the spine, and a greenish-cream underbelly and throat, matched by pale sections along the lower half of its wings. She rather wished she had learned a nice, offensive Shout like Fire Breath. Then she remembered. She wouldn’t be able to use it once the fight started in earnest, but right now there was nobody between her and the Dragon. She looked around quickly to be sure, then back up at it.

_“No. You are not like them. They weren’t so bloody stupid as to give me a chance to attack first. **KRII**!” ___

__***_ _

__“A word, if I may?”_ _

__Nerussa was sitting on the steps near the city’s main gate, legs shaking a little from the after-effects of using her so-called “High Born” ability, well, that was what Lucien called it, at any rate. Obviously it wasn’t known by that name in her studies. Might imply some unwanted things if someone like her proved able to use it, after all. She knew who it was before she looked up, the General had a rather distinctive voice, and even if he hadn’t, she would probably recognise any of the voices that had come so close to completing her execution, she thought._ _

__“General Tullius. I presume you recognise me, then?”_ _

__“You might say that, yes. I’ve also heard some… interesting tales about an Altmer over the last few months, although you don’t quite fit the popular description. The, ah… Dragon thing is a bit of a giveaway, mind you.”_ _

__She laughed, a little bitterly at first, but somehow it turned into a genuine, long chortle. She was a little worried she was approaching hysteria, but she brought herself back from that, running her fingertips over the embroidery on her sleeves as she folded her arms across her chest. She looked around for the others, and saw Lucien healing a guard. Lydia and Kaidan were moving… a body. She couldn’t tell whose._ _

__“Sorry, it’s… suddenly turned into rather a long day. Yes, the, ah… Dragon thing.” She hoped Taarie and Endarie wouldn’t mind that she was so late. “So, are you here to clap me in irons and return me to my rightful place on the chopping block?”_ _

__“No, no, you’ve been… vouched for. Besides, you’re a Thane, twice over, right? The Empire does not execute duly appointed officials of its provinces.” He apparently caught the look in her eye, and actually looked slightly abashed for a moment. “Well. Not without good reason, you understand. Besides, from what I’ve just seen, you’re likely more use to us dead than alive. Oh, I’m sure, being part of Balgruuf’s court, you couldn’t possibly take sides in this silly little civil war, but if you ever felt inclined towards trying your hand as a Battlemage, well, you clearly know where to find me. In any case, I must be going. Have to go to some shindig tomorrow, got to clean my damn armour now…”_ _

__He was gone before she could respond. Well, it could have been worse, she supposed. She stood up and headed off to her fitting._ _


	76. Chapter 76

Kaidan was uncomfortably aware of the attention he was getting. He had forgotten how much more… noticeable he felt without his friends around him. The serving girl had been extremely attentive, not to mention the various patrons who kept finding reasons to pass the table where he waited for her, trying to get a closer look at his damn tattoo, presumably. Lucien had gone to the Bards' College for a lute lesson, and Lydia had left for Rorikstead first thing.

Nerussa had gone upstairs with Taarie to get ready for the party what felt like hours ago. He had been nursing the same bottle of mead the whole time - he didn't really drink to get drunk any more, but he wanted to make sure he was entirely sober tonight. Bad enough that he had to wait uselessly in the wilderness while she was in that damned Embassy, he didn’t want to be slow to react if Lucien’s Resonant Sphere sounded the alarm. 

He re-tied his half-bun for the third time that evening. A shadow fell over him, and he sighed, resting one hand on his thigh as he looked up to see who it was.

"Well, what do you think?"

She looked at him nervously, her fingertips brushing the back of her hair. He stood up, nearly knocking over the chair with his damn foot. By the Nine... 

Nerussa's eyes were level with his own - heeled shoes? How the bloody hell was she planning to run in those if it came to it? He tried to focus on finding some way to answer her question, reminding himself she could probably kick them off if she needed to. Her eyes, though… they were always beautiful, but Taarie had carefully outlined them in silver, and even her lashes looked longer, though he wouldn't have thought that possible.

The face paint was subtle, aside from that. Accentuating, that was the word Lucien would have used, and he was acutely aware of how glad he was that she'd been back to Galathil. The lips he'd kissed so many times in his dreams were back, reddened just a touch for this evening, the jawline he'd longed to cup in his hand, returned precisely to how it had been, and he had to tense his arm to keep from doing just that. She even had her own ears back, and there was more than a trace of pink in them, which looked even prettier with the little silver hoops piercing the lobes. Her hair was swept up, with a few stray tendrils curling down around her face, and he couldn't resist tucking one behind her ear, brushing her cheek ever so lightly as he did so. She had taken his breath away on many occasions, but this was just… 

He took in the dress as slowly as he could. Silver filigree… things sat on her shoulders, from which some sort of white silk was draped, the two sides meeting low enough that he hoped he wasn’t blushing. A wide belt, more filigree, encased her waist and, by Dibella, he longed to rest his hand on it, trailing a fingertip lazily through the gaps in the metal. The fabric swooshed gloriously out over her hips, falling just short of brushing the floor as she shifted uncertainly. Shit, he still hadn't said anything. He looked her in the eye, and said the only thing he could manage to.

"That's… a good look on you." Judging by the way she smiled at him, the words he hadn't managed to say were written all over his face.

He swallowed. "Are you ready to go and meet Delphine?" 

"Actually, I wanted to ask your opinion on some accessories Taarie showed me. I think they may be a bit much… Would you mind waiting a little longer?"

"Erm, sure. Lucien should be back, soon," he said as she turned and walked toward the stairs. Sod it. When she came back from the damn party, he was going to tell her how he felt. If he could get the damn words out. 

Lucien arrived shortly afterwards. He took one look at Kaidan and smiled. "I take it the dress is… good?" Kaidan nodded.

"Wonderful! Did you manage to _tell_ her that? Well, never mind. I'll do my best to fill in the gaps. Ah, and here is the belle of the ball now!"

Nerussa walked toward them, and Kaidan was extremely glad Lucien had arrived. The Imperial rushed forward, telling Nerussa how splendid and marvellous she looked, and even convinced her to do a twirl, looking over his shoulder at Kaidan with a mischievous look on his face as the fabric swirled around her legs, reminding him a little of the way Dragon souls moved around her. The dress was still just as gorgeous and now there were golden butterflies dancing below the… pauldrons, that was the only word he could find. And around the hem. And down the V of fabric covering… Some of her back. All overlaid with a gossamer-thin layer of pale blue silk, and damn it, why could he not get any of these observations to come out of his fucking mouth? Taarie had come downstairs this time, and was glowing with pride as Lucien praised her and Endarie's skill. 

It was generally agreed that the butterflies and blue _chiffon_ as it seemed to be called, should stay. She put on a deep blue woolen cloak, and as they made their way to the city gate, Taarie gasped, asked Nerussa to wait, and dashed into her shop. She came back out with a small velvet bag and pressed it into Kaidan's hand. "I must help my sister finish her work for the day, could you help Nerussa with this when you get to the carriage?" She had dashed away again before he could say anything. 

At the stables, even Delphine looked impressed. She handed Nerussa the invitation, and noted with approval that her companions had already taken care of her belongings. Kaidan remembered the pouch just in time.

"Don't forget this, whatever it is." She stood in front of him, and as he tipped the golden butterfly comb into his hand, he caught a trace of honeysuckle and orange blossom on the breeze as it brushed over her. He swallowed. "You smell… good." She smiled shyly at him, and he did his best to place the comb securely in her hair without accidentally digging it into her skull. He felt all fingers and thumbs, but she seemed happy with his work, touching her fingertips gently to the comb as he took his hand away.

"Thank you. I'll see you both where we arranged, yes?"

"Of course. Just… try not to get into too much trouble?" She smiled, raised an eyebrow, and climbed the steps of the carriage - a rather more ornate affair than the ones they usually travelled in. 

"I'll do what I can!"

As the carriage rolled away, Lucien put a friendly hand as far up Kaidan's arm as he could reach. "I said 'you smell good,' again," was all he could say.

"I know, Kaidan. I know."

***

“Vigilance, you talk to him, maybe you can convince him to chase after a hare or two?”

Lydia sighed. She’d taken the dogs out for an early evening walk while her Da cleared up after dinner. Officially, she’d brought the dogs out to try and cheer Summer a little, but she had to admit she was in need of distraction herself.

Vigilance was his usual self, clearly enjoying his run on the plains, but with that slight reserve of the trained fighter. Summer was, well, she supposed that since she’d known him “miserable” was his usual self, but she got the strong impression he wasn’t really like that. She hoped they could find out what he was so sad about, although him having shown up for sale at Banning’s made the most likely explanation – a lost master – a pretty un-fixable one. He was a beautiful dog, though, a husky, the Thane called him. Lydia was more used to dogs that were just, well, dogs.

She had one other reason for the walk, and had herded the dogs as best she could across the tundra to the Shrine of Stendarr. She wasn’t exactly a follower of Stendarr, but she always felt a little stronger after visiting the shrine, and taking a moment to ensure the braziers still burned brightly. She had brought a small offering – a bottle of mead and a sweetroll. Not the most inspired choices, but it felt right somehow. She said a small prayer for her Thane’s safety that evening, and swore to kick Delphine from Riverwood to Falkreath if anything happened to Nerussa. If Kaidan didn’t get there first.

***

Whatever the evening held, thought Nerussa, the look on Elenwen’s face would have been worth it. She wasn’t actually sure she’d ever seen her expression be anything other than studiedly placid, even in situations where she was clearly furious. She actually looked shocked, and Nerussa was relieved that, apparently, Saltar hadn’t informed on her. Of course, it only lasted a few moments before the First Emissary composed herself, and, a little too loudly, introduced herself.

“Welcome, I am Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador to Skyrim. And you are..?”

“Nerussa, Thane of Whiterun and the Rift. Pleased to meet you, _Haprasse._ ”

The inflection on the first syllable was almost unnoticeable, but it had the desired impact. She probably shouldn’t play with Elenwen like this, but that nigh-imperceptible twitch by one of her oh-so correct cheekbones was priceless. Fine, that was enough, time to behave. She smiled blandly – faced with a true master of the art, she could not claim to be capable of a truly placid face – and waited for Elenwen to respond.

“Ah, yes. I remember your name from the guest list. What brings you to this… to Skyrim?”

Nerussa opened her mouth to answer, but fortunately Malborn, standing at the bar in earshot of their niceties, called for the First Emissary’s attention, and Nerussa slipped into the function room. It seemed a significant amount of the rest of the cargo of the ship which had brought Taarie’s new stock of fabrics from Alinor, had been furnishings for the Embassy, to make it seem, well, "more like home" might be pushing it, but a little less “upper-class Barbarian” than when she was here last. The cold stone walls were almost entirely obscured with a series of vibrant draperies, far more than one would see in Alinor, of course, but then in Alinor one wasn’t trying to disguise the architecture but to accentuate it. Finely carved elen wood tables, oiled and polished to a deep honey colour presumably intended to mimic antique wood – nobody would risk genuine antiques on a ship to a land of ‘savages’ – were placed discreetly here and there, bearing plates of… Nerussa hoped nobody heard the little groan that escaped her when she realised there were genuine, imported Summerset Orange Cakes and _Milene_ and _**Sancarnile __**_ _and… She forced herself to turn away from the pastries and instead focus on the crowd around her._

__She had to admit, the gathering was impressive. The Jarls from each Imperial-held Hold, along with half a dozen or so courtiers, assistants, and other hangers-on. All the higher-ranking Justiciars in the province, with – she exhaled in relief – the exception of Ancano, presumably unable to leave the College unattended. A number of merchant types - she thought she recognised the young woman in charge of the East Empire Company’s office at the Solitude Docks. General Tullius, who gave her a rueful look before being pulled aside by a vaguely familiar Breton woman – gods, it was the obnoxious widow who seemed to have taken up residence in the Winking Skeever in hopes of snagging a rich replacement for the husband she lost in Helgen. Nerussa wished Tullius luck, under her breath._ _

__Fine, she thought. Time to make conversation. She hesitated for half a second or so, and made a beeline for Idgrod Ravencrone._ _

__Well, any self-respecting bee would make a diversion for a Summerset Orange Cake._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/n: “Haprasse” is my attempt (with thanks to my friend Lisette and the Imperial Library for help/vocab page) at an Aldmeris equivalent to “Emissary” (I feel like titles would be in Aldmeris rather than Altmeris). In my mind, it’s pronounced with a lightly accented “e” at the end, almost rhyming with “passé” but without the strong stress usually placed on the last syllable in English. Stressing the first syllable, grammatically, is something of a power play in this situation, a very subtle – Altmer are always very subtle – assertion of Nerussa’s increased rank as compared to previous meetings. I believe that, by Altmer standards, Elenwen would still be seen as higher ranking – officially, Nerussa’s only titles are very minor, and a Thalmor Ambassador to a scummy province would naturally outrank a minor courtier in said province, but knowing one could, should one choose, shout one’s former employer across the room does tend to lend a little extra confidence, no?
> 
> (I’ve kind of winged it a bit with the list of cakes and sweets – basically I put words that mean nice things or things you might shape a cake like, together in ways that sound pleasing to me. “Milene” is from “mil” (sweet) and “en” (eye) – I’m imagining something similar to a cinnamon whirl. “Sancarnile” translates as “golden flowers” – I’m thinking they’re something like this http://www.tosimplyinspire.com/apple-rose-puffed-pastries.html )


	77. Chapter 77

“Ha! Someone worth talking to at last. Tell me, how’s it going with that young man of yours?”

“He’s not…” She sighed. “I’m sorry, Jarl Idgrod, could we talk about something else?” The Nord woman chuckled, raised an eyebrow and took a drink from her cup.

“If you insist, my dear. Now, let me guess - you need a distraction?”

“Oh. I do, actually. Not just yet, but I’m going to need to, um, slip away for a few minutes. Just got to retrieve something, you know.”

“Of course, of course, just picking up an old shopping list, I’m quite sure. Well, if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s distractions. I’d get Maven to go first, though, or your… former colleague? The one who won’t remove his hood. One condition, though?”

“Name it!”

“Ha, should’ve thought of something bigger if you’re going to be that forthcoming. Just promise to come by our sleepy hamlet soon, I want to make that handsome fellow of yours squirm, as well.”

Nerussa laughed, hoping she wasn’t serious about the Kaidan part. “I’d say that’s a very fair trade. I’m not sure quite when, but certainly by the end of the year, if that’s acceptable?”

For a moment, a cloud passed over Idgrod’s face, but it was followed by a smile.

“Yes, the end of the year should be… just about the right time.”

***

“Well, well, aren’t we full of surprises. I’d heard you’d had a rather nasty fall, and yet here you are, full of life, with a new…. _look_ , and asking for a favour!”

Nerussa cursed under her breath. She shouldn’t have approached Maven, gods, what if she told Mercer? Still, too late, now.

“Maven, there’s a lot going on that you probably aren’t aware of, all I can say at the moment is I wouldn’t trust Frey as far as Saerlund Law-Giver could throw him.”

“Well, that’s hardly news, but all right, I shan’t pry, so long as your loyalty lies in the appropriate places. So, you want me to keep Elenwen busy, you say? Very well, I assume you know what you’re doing.”

“Thank you, Maven. I should only need fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, there’s something I need to ‘acquire’, I’m sure you understand. I’m hoping my former colleague over there will cause an initial disturbance so I can slip away, then if you could manage to keep the First Emissary talking for a few more minutes, it would be most helpful.”

“Yes, yes, fine, well, what are you waiting for? I presume I’ll see you in Riften at some point, I don’t imagine you’ll leave Frey to his own devices indefinitely?”

Nerussa smiled, tight-lipped, nodded and took a deep breath before walking towards Ondolemar.

***

“Well, good evening! Don’t you look splendid? Although… what’s happened to your face?”

“I felt like being myself again, Lemar.” He raised an eyebrow at her, and sipped his wine.

“Of course you did, and _here you are!_ Well done Saltar, hmm? Where did you get that wonderful gown, is it imported?”

“No, I had it made in Solitude. You’re in a very good mood, I thought you hated these parties?”

“Now, now, whatever gave you that impression, I _adore_ the First Emissary’s hospitality, who doesn’t?”

He paused for a moment, then chuckled to himself as though he’d made a clever little joke. Smirking, he continued on.

“So, I suppose this is your first attendance at one of these events out of uniform, so to speak.” His smirk turned lascivious at that, and Nerussa fought to keep her face bland, to push back the memories trying to peek around the edges of her conscious mind. “How are you finding it? Le… _El_ enwen has done a _marvellous_ job with the décor, hmm?”

Nerussa blinked at the slip-up. Was he on such good terms with the First Emissary to use her familiar name? Gods, he stank of wine and cologne, just like… _nulli, para, vena…_ no, _ve **r** a, nata…_

“It’s beautiful, I shall have to ask if I can take some of the pastries home with me. Lemar, would you do something for me?”

“Of course, my dear, anything.”

Gods, the look on his face now. He didn’t think..? Oghma’s _tits._

“Thanks, that’s very helpful, I just need you to keep the First Emissary busy while I slip up to my old quarters, I left some letters from my grandmother up there, I’m sure they’re probably long gone but you know, I’d just like to see.”

He looked a little crestfallen, but it seemed his effervescent mood was near-indestructible this evening, and he actually rubbed his hands together before declaring he had the perfect plan, and turning on his heel to stalk angrily toward the drunk Redguard sitting on a bench near the entrance.  
“How _dare_ you speak of the Thalmor in such a disgusting manner?”

Nerussa let out a breath she hadn’t noticed she’d been holding, then took advantage of the fact that everyone in the room was staring at Ondolemar to slip quietly behind the bar and through the door that Malborn had opened.

Why _had_ he been in such a good mood, she wondered as she was bustled into a kitchen staffed by a rather annoyed Khajiit. And, more to the point, would she be able to talk the cook into allowing her to take a few cakes away with her?


	78. Chapter 78

Tsavani did not appreciate disruptions. The Thalmor were wise, had restored the moons, blah, blah, Tsavani did not particularly care. She had been offered the job on her sister Shavari’s recommendation, it paid well enough and she was permitted to visit with her caravan cousins once a week when they were outside the nearby city gates. The Thalmor’s money paid for a good supply of Moon Sugar, even a little smoke of Skooma from time to time.

In return, she worked hard to ensure they enjoyed her cooking and kept her in this relatively warm and comfortable position, and that Shavari knew nothing of the little pouch filled for her every Sundas morning. Disruptions made it hard to concentrate, particularly on a Fredas when she was running low on Sugar. And now that damn Wood-Elf was bringing some idiot noble into her kitchen…

“Who comes, Malborn? You know I don’t like strange smells in my kitchen.”

“A guest, feeling ill. Leave the poor wretch be.”

“A guest? In the kitchens? You know this is against the rules…”

“Rules, is it, Tsavani? I didn’t realise that eating Moon Sugar was permitted. Perhaps I should ask the Ambassador?”

“Tss! Get out of here, I saw nothing.” For a moment, Tsavari thought the smell of this one was not _so_ strange, but it was hard to tell. No matter, she was leaving, heading into the pantry, not Tsavari’s problem now. The two elves muttered at each other a little, then Malborn closed the pantry door and headed back to the party room. Tsavari returned to her cooking.

***

Nerussa stared at the bag. Damn, she hadn’t thought of this. Her plan had been to bluff her way out of the building under the guise of needing some air, but what party guest would be carrying a grubby brown leather pack? While she was thinking, she grabbed a cloth from the pantry shelf, wrapped a couple of dozen cakes and pastries in it, and shoved it in the bag. Sod it, this might be the last taste of Alinor she was going to get...

With that she lifted her skirt and wedged the bag between her knees. Well, an inability to walk properly would help with the impression of having been taken ill, right? Thankfully any staff too unimportant to be present in the party itself would be unlikely to dare look a nobly dressed Altmer woman in the face. She drew herself up to her full height, and opened the door.

“Can’t believe it’s _him_ , Elenwen nearly – Can I help you my lady?”

“I need some air, kindly escort me to a suitable location.” Gods, she recognised him, he’d arrived from Alinor at the same time she had. Thankfully he seemed to be averting his eyes. That or examining her neckline, it was difficult to tell with one’s nose so high in the air.

“Of course, my lady. Come with me.” He ushered her towards the door, held it open for her.

“That will be all.”

She leaned against the back of the door for a moment, her eyes straying towards the door of Elenwen’s Solar. Sure enough, a guard was standing outside, near the end of his shift, judging by the slight slump in his posture. Perfect. She watched him for a minute or two, and decided to take the risk. She cast Invisibility. Fortunately he didn’t seem to notice – the white dress didn’t stand out too much against the snow-spattered walls, though her skin likely did – and she made for the window at the side of the building where she’d slipped inside once before. She was pretty sure they’d known she was looking through records she shouldn’t have, but apparently they hadn’t bothered to fix the lock, and she was able to pull the window up, drop her bag inside, and clamber in.

***

**Thalmor Dossier: Agent 3521**

**Status:** Fugitive/believed deceased. If found alive: Capture only, Medium Priority, Emissary Level Approval. Threat Level: Low.

Altmer female of mixed blood, brown skin tone, reddish brown hair, grey eyes. Larger than normal build. Mid-60s.

 **Background:** Born to adequate Alinor family. Some Nord blood (mother’s side?) as evidenced by appearance. Paternal grandmother spent some time in Vvardenfell around the period of that island’s Blight, and returned, clearly with child, in 3E431, claiming to have been briefly married to an Altmer healer based in Balmora. Recent information has cast doubt on this claim; we are awaiting confirmation before further detail is included here. Letters from this relative were located among the Agent’s personal effects after her disappearance/demise and are enclosed.

Strong student, particularly of linguistics, adequate mage but not especially gifted. No aptitude for weaponry, surprisingly weak given large size. Joined ranks as administrative worker on graduation. Present at Vampire Symposium, 4E185. Submitted self for re-education immediately afterwards. Largely de-activated during this process, owing to certain concerns on the part of Justiciar Ondolemar.

 **Operational Notes:** Suspected of contact/possible conspiracy with a known enemy of Alinor (see Dossier: _Falmer Berate_ ). Known to have viewed ordinary-level papers regarding said individual on more than one occasion under pretext of archival work. Believed disposed of at the Nord village Helgen on 17th Last Seed, 4E201, under guise of working to further Thalmor interests in Skyrim, however certain information received suggests Agent 3521 may have survived. 

Over-Justiciar Saltar currently investigating claims, thus far most appear to be some kind of Nord blend of folk tale and gossip, however we cannot assume the absence of confirmed sightings (either under her own name or any known aliases, see appended list) is evidence that she did not survive, particularly given the incident at Helgen on that day. 

No known connection with Ulfric Stormcloak, however one cannot be ruled out at this stage. Most likely explanation if she did survive is that she opportunistically fled through an unattended gate, more probably the person observed is simply a provincial Altmer, recently immigrated from Cyrodiil, with a passing resemblance to the Agent.

***

“Threat level: low”? Well, that explained why she’d been allowed to mingle at the party, rather than being immediately detained, Nerussa thought. Presumably they hadn’t wanted to make a scene in front of guests when it would be easy enough to insist that their countrywoman remain at the end of the night under the guise of Altmer tradition. She was more disturbed by ‘largely de-activated’. She didn’t have time to think about that right now, though.

She looked through the other files for Äelberon’s Dossier – the one she’d looked at all those months ago was under his given name, but it was clear who “Falmer Berate” referred to. She swore under her breath at that. Strangely, neither file was anywhere in the record room. Perhaps Elenwen had taken them to her private office for review?  


She was glad to have retrieved her grandmother's letters, and for some reason felt she ought to try and get hold of Äelberon's Dossier - it was meaningless, he was, what, in Cyrodiil? But she felt the need to somehow protect his name, if only in this small way.

She did, however, find Dossiers on Delphine and Ulfric Stormcloak, and a note from Third Emissary Rulindil – she shuddered at his name – which seemed to confirm her own belief that the Thalmor were not responsible for the return of the dragons. It mentioned prisoners in Rulindil’s custody who might be able to shed further light on the situation.  


Nerussa rubbed her temples. She could leave now. She had confirmation that the Thalmor weren’t involved. She was increasingly certain the only entity responsible for the return of the dragons was Alduin, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that perhaps these prisoners did know something, and that perhaps she should, well… rescue them?

Oghma’s _tits_ , was she really intending to go up against Rulindil? He was one of the Thalmor’s strongest mages, and he was a vicious, spiteful bastard. She checked her pack – two strong potions of Spellshield and one of Shockbane. She pulled out her potion belt – the potions would be no use on her back – and buckled it on. She nudged the door to Elenwen's chambers so it began opening slowly, and cast Invisibility.


	79. Chapter 79

Erik the farm boy was bored. Bored of Rorikstead, certainly bored of farm work. Bored of spending every night in an inn full of old men. He was even bored of his name. Oh, Erik was a good enough name, but it was so short, so plain. Bah! He glared into his mug of ale, ignoring the door opening behind him. It would only be old Rorik, come for his evening drink, same time every day. Why bother to look up?

“Still here, Erik?” He almost dropped his mug. What was she doing here on a Fredas eve?

“Lydia! Yes, still here, of course.” She swung one leg over the bench and sat beside him. “Shouldn’t you be off protecting that Elf lady?”

“That’s Thane Nerussa of Whiterun Hold to you. And I’ve got a few days off. Thought I’d come and visit Ma and Da. Mralki still not letting you go, then?”

“Ha, no. Thinks I’m too soft – of course I’m soft, I’ve never been allowed past your Ma’s farm without him. Maybe…” He glanced at Lydia shyly, then stared straight ahead at the damn wall he’d spent the past eighteen years staring at. “Maybe you could speak to him? He’d listen to you, I know he would!”

Lydia looked him up and down. She sighed, and put down her mug. “Fine. I’ll ask him. I don’t think it’ll do much good, but I’ll ask.”

He shifted in his seat so he could watch without it being too obvious. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her, dressed in breeches and a dark green shirt, approaching his father. He couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but he saw Lydia reach into her pocket and pull out a coin purse. She poured the contents onto the counter, counted it out, nodded, and then put it back in the purse. She shook hands with Mralki, and came to sit by Erik again.

“He said no, didn’t he?” He looked at Lydia, who took a long swallow of mead, then stood up. She put her hand on his shoulder.

“Best get some rest, kid, we’ve got an early start. Thane’s due back in Whiterun in the morning, and Warmaiden’s opens at sunrise. If Adrianne has something already made that’s the right sort of size, it’ll only take an hour or two to fit it, but she may need to make something new, which will take most of the day. So, we’ll need to leave around six. I’ll see you outside.”

Erik stood up so quickly he banged his knee on the table. “Oh, thank you, Lydia! But… my father says we can’t afford armour…”

“Oh, I got bored on my days off. Cleared a couple of bandit camps, did some mining, hunting, that sort of thing We can sort something out.” She grinned and clapped him on the back, but he managed to brace himself and stood firm. Not that she’d ever made him stumble doing that... Damn, he was blushing.

“Well, uh, thanks again, I guess I’ll see you in the morning!” He wasn’t sure how he was going to get any sleep, but he started clearing away his dinner things and went to see if his father needed any help before he went to bed.

***

**Thalmor Dossier: The Falmer Berate**

(Highest level clearance only, an abridged version is available for lower levels in main record room, DO NOT view without express permission of First Emissary Elenwen).

 **Status:** Exile/Fugitive (Kill on sight outside populated areas – see Operational Notes), Highest Priority, Emissary Level Approval. Treat with extreme caution.

 **Description:** Half Elf, Male, 240s, abnormally large and pale. Extremely long, white hair, typically worn in top knot. Severe scarring to the facial features and body, far beyond acceptable levels. Red-orange eyes. Only identifiable as part Mer if ears visible.

 **Background:** (See pp 3-4 for a full list of known aliases and “titles”.) Born in Dusk (15th First Seed, 3E391 – see appendix C: numerology) to mixed parentage (see appendix D: genealogy). Former Captain of the Guard to House Larethian. Former Knight of the Crystal Tower. Priest of former Order of Auri-El (dissolved 4E185 by Retired Grand Justiciar Vingalmo, Lord of House Caemal). Known close associate of Rynandor the Bold and Lathenil of Sunhold.

Multiple instances of detention from as early as 4E10, even while professing loyalty to Alinor. Exiled 4E98 (public led to believe he had died in vampire raid on Dusk) to protect Alinor’s interests. Survived. Captured during the First War Against the Empire, assigned to the interrogator Elenwen, now First Emissary. Believed to have formed an alliance with the Nord “Jarl” (a member of what passes for nobility in Skyrim), Ulfric Stormcloak, unfortunately this was not discovered until Stormcloak’s “escape” had been facilitated and it was discovered that this fugitive had escaped with him. Extremely dangerous. Do not attempt Illusion magics, the fugitive is strongly resistant/immune.

 **Operational Notes:** Last confirmed sighting was at the Vampire Symposium in Alinor in 4E185. See pp 235-247). Current location unknown, believed to be in Cheydinhal, or elsewhere in Cyrodiil. Believed to be in contact with certain persons within Alinor, including a low-ranking Thalmor Agent, currently under observation. Previously listed as ‘capture only’, however after the loss of many agents on previous, failed attempts to do this, his status has been amended as above.

If discovered in populated areas not under Thalmor control, diplomacy requires a capture is attempted. May be possible to exert coercion by threatening civilians, particularly women and children, although this should obviously only be attempted overseas if witnesses unlikely to be believed by local authorities or can be eliminated, or if done out of earshot of others.

Fugitive should be considered extremely dangerous and is likely to be armed and clad in heavy, slow armour more typical of the lower races. No true offensive magicks (Dest., Conj. schools), but as would be expected of a Priest of Auri-El, has strong Restoration ability. Has also been recorded as using a number of other spells from the defunct Mysticism school, and some abilities not seen since the Second Era (see appendix E: known spells). Possesses animal-like brute strength and not-inconsiderable ability with a blade, the “Dusken Dog” should not be underestimated and possesses a certain sly cunning.

***

Nerussa looked around Elenwen’s bedchamber. Well, she’d had to look for the Dossier, and it wasn’t in the Emissary’s office. The drawer in her bedside cabinet had been full of assorted bric-a-brac – a jar of lotion, a few pieces of costume jewellery, a pair of thin,cotton gloves, a thin leather strip wound into a ball, a handkerchief, a key… Finally she’d located the Dossier underneath the mattress of the four-post bed on which she was currently sitting, the Dossier open to the cover sheet. The main text was largely the same as the file she’d seen all those months ago, but with certain additions, all in Elenwen’s writing. Not additions, she supposed, things which had been redacted from the ordinary-level file. Gods, the woman was obsessed. Lengthy numerological, astrological and genealogical charts, all heavily annotated in the same tiny, precise hand. Minute observations about his casting abilities – it seemed Elenwen had witnessed these at first hand – covered several pages each.

She sighed, and stood up, tucking the Dossier into her pack and praying to someone-or-other that the stitching would hold. She hefted it onto her back and froze. Damn. Someone was outside.

She vanished from sight and edged slowly closer to the door, which she had left ajar. Not in the office, the voices, but directly outside the door. Damn. Rulindil, definitely, and… a Nord, by the sound of it? That was strange. There were one or two Nords working in the Embassy, privy skivvies, usually, but only in the main building, never this one. Their voices were frustratingly hard to make out clearly, but it sounded as though they were discussing the prisoners mentioned in Rulindil’s dragon note, or rather one of them. She thought she caught the name Etienne, and from what she was able to make out, it seemed as though the Nord had enabled this person's capture, and was apparently damn fool enough to push Rulindil to pay before the Mer considered the task complete.

Eventually, the voices stopped, and she was just able to discern two sets of footsteps – Rulindil in fine, leather boots and the Nord in what sounded like the cheap cloth boots worn by the lower classes, probably stuffed with paper to pad out the soles – leading away in opposite directions. Fortunately, they hadn’t felt the need to pull Elenwen’s office door shut, and she was just able to slip out without losing focus on her Invisibility spell. She didn’t need to follow Rulindil’s footsteps to know where he was heading. The interrogation chamber.

She would have gladly waited a while longer before confronting Rulindil, but she’d already been absent from the party for far too long, Elenwen would be unlikely to investigate herself, but she would be sure to send someone to look for her before much longer, probably the soldiers who had escorted her outside. She moved as quickly as she could along the corridor, and down the stairs.

***

“Bah! I grow weary of your stubborn resistance, dog, but very well, if you won’t cooperate, we’ll try the Breton again. Soldier, to the other prisoner.”

Rulindil was seated at a plain, wooden desk, with his back to the small balcony Nerussa found herself on. He waved a hand dismissively as he spoke, his attention on what looked like another Dossier in front of him. Nerussa had never actually been in the interrogation chamber before, not an official one, at least - she thought angrily of Kaidan, shackled and at Cyrelian's mercy - but everyone knew where the damn place was. The majority of prisoners went to Northwatch, of course, but if there was some information to be gathered, or the prisoner was of higher social standing, they were brought here, to be dealt with by Rulindil, or the First Emissary herself.

The balcony offered a partial view of the chamber. From what she could see, each prisoner was kept in a separate “cell”, although it was likely they were shackled rather than locked in. From where she stood, invisible, by the railing, she could see over Rulindil’s shoulder, through a set of iron bars, into the first cell. An armoured soldier was walking away from the prisoner, an enormous Nord, from what she could see, long, dirty white hair and a full, unkempt beard covering most of his face. The soldier moved to a second cell, and was largely obscured by the gloom and the second row of bars. A weak voice spoke up from that cell.

“Stop. Please. I don’t know anything else. Don’t you think I’d have told you already?”

“Silence,” the soldier warned. “You know the rules. Do not speak unless spoken to. Master Rulindil will ask the questions.”

“Now that we’ve reviewed the rules, let’s begin again,” Rulindil continued, his voice snide. Nerussa really wished she’d had a chance to test her new Shout. She had the understanding of it, from the Dragon in Solitude, but still, there was a risk. She fiddled with the fabric of her dress, considering what to do.

Rulindil was still interrogating the prisoner, and Nerussa was glad not to be able to see him. Hearing his cries was bad enough. She was surprised she hadn’t heard either prisoner from upstairs. As she listened to the interrogation, she gradually moved across the balcony, and down the stairs.

“Start at the beginning, as usual. If you persist in this stubbornness, I’ll have…”

“No, wait!” the prisoner stammered. “I was just… catching my breath… why wouldn’t I tell you again? I don’t even know anything… There’s an old man. He lives in Riften. He could be this Esbern you’re looking for, but I don’t know. He’s old and seemed kinda crazy. That’s all I know.”

The Nord in the first cell lifted his head a little. “Old and crazy. Hear that, Rulindil? Run to your bony-arsed mistress upstairs like a good little lapdog, and send for him. Then you shall have two of us. As old and mad as a matron off her hookah!” He laughed gruffly, and she could see Rulindil stiffen.

For all his uncouth language, the voice was more cultured than she would have expected, but then if he was in here he was hardly a peasant. Oghma’s tits, even the nobility in Skyrim didn’t sound like that… From Cyrodiil, perhaps? Cultured or not, the voice was also hoarse, by the sounds of him he’d been in here much longer than the Breton. She shook her head, pushed her focus back to maintaining the invisibility spell, and inched her way along the balcony to a position directly behind Rulindil’s desk.

Only to freeze.

A second soldier – damn, she hadn’t even noticed that one – stepped out from her position opposite the Nord’s cell, hand moving to her weapon. The other soldier, by the sound of it, was also moving away from the Breton, but Rulindil snapped at them to return to their posts.

“Ignore that one, no matter what he tries.” Rulindil’s tone was cruel, even for him, and she found herself holding her breath. “Breton, I’m finding you frustrating. You clearly know more than you are prepared to admit, and for some reason you refuse to bow to your clear superiors and simply tell us what you know. I have, therefore, authorised Manual Uncoiling. Perhaps you’d like your fellow prisoner to explain what that is?”

Suddenly, the Nord became extremely agitated. Gods, he was huge, chained rather than shackled – was he too big for them? – he was standing now, as best he could, twisting around, trying to… was he wrapping the damn chains around his neck? Rulindil was beginning to stand up, his attention on the Nord.

_“IIZ!”_

Rulindil and the soldier guarding the Nord’s cell were suddenly encased in pale blue ice, and fell to the ground. The other soldier and the Nord both stopped what they were doing, the soldier running to see what in Dagon’s Realm had happened. Nerussa flung a Lightning Jolt with one hand, and its cousin spell, Lightning Bolt, with the other, the soldier surrounded by a thousand dancing sparks, beginning to convulse, and she sent out two more Bolts, bringing the soldier to his knees, one eye on Rulindil, hoping he would stay down a little longer…

The Nord now seemed to be trying to break out of his chains, from the sounds coming from his cell. What had he said? A matron off her hookah? Funny phrase for a Nord to come out with. Damn it, concentrate, she told herself. Damn again, the soldier was on his feet again, drawing his blade, readying a spell with the other hand, probably only a weak spell, most of the foot soldiers only knew Sparks… She hoped she was right, she wanted to save the damn potions for Rulindil. She cast her better Mage Armour spell, just in case, and fired off another Bolt. Her damn hair was starting to come undone, falling over her face, and she brushed it back in annoyance. One more Bolt and – yes – the soldier was down.

She paused for breath. “Nord, I advise you to stay where you are, I’ll free you when I’m done. Unless you’re in fighting shape, in which case, hurry up.”

She couldn’t fathom why, but apparently something she said was funny, and the figure on the other side of the bars gave a surprisingly robust chuckle. Even more confusingly, the laugh sounded familiar. No time to puzzle it out, she thought. Rulindil and the surviving soldier were beginning to thaw.

She grabbed the two soldiers’ weapons and slid them across the floor to where the prisoner would be able to grab them if he did succeed in freeing himself, then ran back up to the balcony.

Rulindil was on his feet, but apparently hadn’t yet got his bearings. Nerussa grabbed a Resist Magic potion, and one to replenish her own Magicka, and gulped them down. An animalistic growl and the loud snap of a chain came from the Nord’s cell. The surviving soldier looked… terrified.

“Rulindil, you’re not going to let the prisoners go, are you?"

“What in Oblivion do you think you’re doing? Guard, this She-Elf has attacked your superior and killed one of your own rank. End. Her.”

“I didn’t think so.” She drew a deep breath, charged her Bolts, and…another chain broke as she opened her mouth.

_“FUS RO DAH!”_

The two Thalmor flew back. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Nord, hair everywhere, dressed in dirty, blood-stained rags, fly out of the cell. She absent-mindedly switched to Healing Hands – his wrists were likely in a bad way after that – and bathed him in golden light for a few seconds. Gods, he was like a wall. He raised an arm in thanks, and reached for one of the blades on the floor. Take both, you fool, she thought. It was so small in his hand, but he wielded it with surprising grace, for someone who, from the look of him, had been in chains for quite some time.

“Well, Nord, is it now? Ha! Been called worse!” He chortled, and looked up at her, the hair falling back from his pale, scarred face, a smirk she had last seen sixteen years ago playing across his lips, and she knew why the other blade had been left on the floor. “I could have sworn you were the only Nordling here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With thanks once more to Lisette, this time for letting me include her wonderful character, whose name _has_ appeared in this story already, but isn't _technically_ shown in this chapter... 
> 
> “Berate” translates as “half-Elf”. Obviously Falmer, taken literally, just means Snow-Elf. In the context of being a “Falmer half-Elf”, though, they’re implying he’s descended from the creatures described by some as “the Betrayed”, not merely that he is of mixed heritage (which would be bad enough in their eyes).


	80. Chapter 80

"So, you're actually going to tell her? Tonight?"

"Yep. Can't keep putting it off, it's driving me mad. Gods, did you see her tonight?" He groaned, and dragged his hand over his face.

"Fairly sure I did, yes. She was the really tall one with the earrings, wasn't she?" Lucien grinned, and ducked as Kaidan threw his apple core at him. "Joking aside, Kaidan, I'm glad to hear it. You two are obviously wild about one another, and these are uncertain times. There's no sense in being so patient that you miss your chance."

"Who knows, maybe she'll have found someone else tonight…" Kaidan's face was morose, and Lucien bit back a joke. This wasn't the time.

"Kaidan, with the best will in the world, shut up. I don't think she could even see another man with all those stars in her eyes. And anyway, who would she meet at a _Thalmor_ event?"

They both chuckled. Suddenly, a voice boomed behind them. Kaidan leapt to his feet, and his hand flew to the hilt of his greatsword, the nodachi having been left safely at home. Lucien stood a little more cautiously, looking around for the source of the voice.

 ** _"New supplicants approach… Listen. Hear me and obey."_** Oh. They both looked at the statue, just visible from the Word Wall where they had set themselves up for the evening. Had it been… glowing, before? **_"A foul darkness has seeped into my temple. A darkness that you will destroy."_** Lucien suddenly realised Kaidan was striding towards the statue, up a set of stone steps. He raced after his friend, not liking the look of this.

Kaidan reached the feet of the statue and stood, looking up at it for a little while. Lucien put a hand on the taller man's arm, but he shrugged it off.

Finally, he spoke. "Piss off, Daedra. You're barking up entirely the wrong tree with either of us. Find someone else."

***

Nerussa tried to think of something to say, but her attention was drawn back to the Third Emissary, furiously attempting to get to his feet with some semblance of dignity. She didn’t feel able to Shout again yet, but her spells were ready. Unfortunately, so were Rulindil’s. His attention was fully on her, though – had he not realised Äelberon had freed himself? Nerussa had only been hit with a Shout a few times, and it was, from what she remembered, quite disorientating. Gods, she needed to focus on the fight ahead, not start reminiscing about previous battles…

Oghma's _tits_... Rulindil certainly wasn’t disorientated now; she reeled backwards as a strong Shock spell hit her. She was glad that it seemed to be a Bolt, rather than a Jolt – the initial kick was far more painful, but she didn’t like the idea of the ongoing pain of those sparks dancing over her for several minutes. She quickly cast a healing spell and moved forward, Jolt in one hand, Bolt in the other. She caught sight, out of the corner of her eye, of… oh, Xarxes’ arse, why was she even surprised? Äelberon was actually offering the soldier her blade back. Her face wasn’t visible, but even Nerussa could see from her stance that she was confused and afraid. As Nerussa hit the Third Emissary with all her might, she saw Älberon speak briefly to the soldier who nodded, and ran into the cell where Nerussa could make her out, pressed against the back wall, shaking.

Äelberon, a blade in each hand, advanced on Rulindil, silent as a cat stalking a mouse, his expression grim and dark, eyes blazing. She and Rulindil exchanged a few more blasts of Shock magic, then, when Äelberon was within arm’s reach of the other Mer, his voice rumbled in a way that took her back to Sundas mornings in Temple with her family.

“May Auri-El’s judgement be upon you for your cruelty."

Rulindil spun around, spells discharging uselessly at his side, to see Äelberon of Dusk raising both blades and bringing them up in unison, his eyes like those of a bird of prey…

The Third Emissary’s head rolled across the floor as his silk-robed body slumped to its knees, coming to a stop by a trapdoor, loosely covered with straw.

Nerussa ran down the stairs and grabbed the Dossier Rulindil had been reviewing. “Esbern,” whoever that was – a former Blade by the look of it. Apparently her former employers did not do non-Altmer the “politeness” of snide code names. She tucked it away to show to Delphine if she had a chance to drop by Riverwood on the way to Riften, although that was starting to look unlikely. Still, it looked as though this Esbern fellow might well be in the recesses of the Ratway, so she could probably just head down there - it was just as well she and Karliah had already met with Brynjolf and the rest.

There was another Dossier among the papers, she realised. A slim volume, no label. Glancing through it, she realised this was something Kaidan needed to see.

She looked up. Äelberon had just said something, where was he? Oh, right. The other prisoner. She supposed she ought to go and say hello. A small part of her registered the absurdity of that thought, but she brushed it away.

She crouched next to Äelberon. Gods, the Breton was in a bad way. Although if he was indeed one of the Ratway vaults’ squatters, that might not be an entirely new state of affairs. Äelberon was casting a healing spell on the man’s wrists and murmuring what sounded like a prayer. Come to think of it, Äelberon didn’t look in terribly good shape, either, though he’d clearly had a better start point. Even the healing spell was starting to flicker, as though his reserves of Magicka were almost spent.

“I think they put a drain Magicka poison in my food, among other things,” he said, almost conversationally. “Ha! What did they think I would do, heal them to death? Fools! Luckily, the food already tasted abysmal, so it made little difference as to its edibility.” He chortled, and then coughed, the congestion in his lungs sounding heavy to Nerussa. He took a laboured breath and cleared his throat as he continued to cast. “Had the added benefit of making the minuscule portions not seem like such a bad thing.”

“But... What are you even doing here??”

He looked over his shoulder, smirking, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes, making it look more of a grimace. “Got myself in a spot of trouble in Markarth. I shall tell you the full story another time, but it ends with my walking right into Ondolemar, the bastard.”

“And you just… let him capture you?” She remembered the Dossier. “Yes, of course you did, I expect the marketplace was full of onlookers?”

“Precisely. I could not risk… Well, I am sure you know what your people are capable of.” He turned back to the Breton, his magicks exhausted, he now seemed to be feeling for broken bones. "You will be alright, lad, do not fret..."

“They’re not…” She sighed, unable to continue when she saw his jaw clench under the beard. This was hardly the time for explanations. She looked at him more closely, and realised with horror that what she’d taken for a few blood stains on a ripped, brownish shirt, was actually a lighter-coloured shirt, almost entirely stained with blood, both old and fresh. As she studied him, a few more drops of blood fell on his shirt and she realised with a churning stomach that his nose was starting to bleed.

“I’m going to _kill_ Ondolemar.” Her voice was cold, but she could feel the anger building. She actually stood up and turned toward the balcony, but she felt his massive hand gently close around her wrist. It was terribly hot to the touch… She looked down at him, only now noticing how damp his hair was at the roots, and felt her frustration grow.

“What good would that do, Nordling? What are you intending to do, storm into Elenwen’s festivities, Shout them all to bits?”

Her shoulders lowered a little. Maybe he had a point.

“So, how do we get out of here?”

Äelberon coughed again, bringing his hand to his mouth before gesturing to his left. “There appears to be a trapdoor there, I have no idea where it goes, but there is definitely a cold draft when they open it. I must warn you, however, they usually open it to dispose of…” he managed a slight, almost playful grin, the eyes – their brightness until now had surely been part of the fever – mustering the familiar twinkle she remembered from the Symposium. “…Waste.”

She went to investigate, and had her hand in her hair, pulling out a pin to use as a lockpick - she’d used the ones she had left with Malborn - when the soldier behind her spoke.

“I have the key. If you… If I let you get away, they’ll… They’ll do the same to me as to him. As they had _me_ do to him. Please. I don’t expect you to help me, but if I give you the key, will you let me leave with you?”

Nerussa looked at her. She couldn’t have been older than her thirties - in Altmer terms, a little younger than Lucien. She opened her mouth to say “yes"...

“She comes with us,” Äelberon directed, and Nerussa bit her lip, trying not to glare at the soldier. After everything they had done to him, he still...

She nodded, and held her hand out for the key.


	81. Chapter 81

Kaidan stoked the fire again. Lucien seemed quite relaxed, reading Nerussa’s copy of The Wolf Queen, leaning against the Word Wall. What had he called himself? A _Jarth-head?_ Kaidan chuckled, briefly distracted from his nerves, then stood and began pacing again.

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon, Kaidan. She probably slipped away, found something to show to Delphine, and then had to rejoin the party. I doubt she’s doing anything riskier than engaging in awkward small talk and wondering when she can politely leave…”

“I hope you’re right, Lucien…” He realised he was eyeing the statue again, and turned his back on it. He understood Nerussa’s logic for meeting there - the Word Wall would hide their firepit from any passing Thalmor, and most of them would steer well clear of the ancient temple in any case. Still, he’d been, well, less than enthusiastic even before voices had started trying it on. He appreciated that Nerussa had never pushed him for more detail on the Blooded Dawn, but he knew he’d have to tell her more. Some day. Thankfully she had a healthy dislike of Daedra herself, albeit for very different reasons. A Conjurer might have been a step too far for him.

He tried to distract himself by thinking of what he was going to say when she got back. Maybe if he planned it out, he wouldn’t get completely tongue-tied… Not that he could seem to think of the right words, even without her standing in front of him, gazing into his eyes as long as she could before it got too much for her...

He was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of voices nearby. _Shit_ , who was that? Lucien was still absorbed in his book, and Kaidan thought it best not to alarm him, just yet. Listening carefully, he could just make out Nerussa’s voice, but who the bloody hell was with her? He stepped around the Word Wall, and saw her, hair falling messily around her shoulders, dress ripped, singed and filthy, with… a _Thalmor soldier?_ The pair of them were supporting a great, deathly-pale somebody, dressed in bloody rags, long, filthy white hair trailing everywhere. He had an arm around each She-Elf’s shoulder, though Kaidan had no idea how they were managing his weight - whoever he was, he was a similar height to Kaidan himself, but a little broader.

Beyond them, he could just make out two more figures, the source of the other two voices - muttering defensively about not being allowed to help. 

“Quickly, can you get the bedrolls ready? Put them close together, I don’t think we can keep him upright much longer…” Lucien startled at the sound of her voice, and he and Kaidan hurried to do as she asked. As they fiddled with straps and laid out the bedrolls, the figure began a coughing fit which, after a few moments, turned into a deep voice, that somehow managed more petulance than the other two combined.

“’M _fine_ , Nordling. Don’t fuss.”

Somehow, the two She-Elves managed to get the protesting man - no, Elf, the hair was parted by two long, slender ears, more clearly visible in the light of the fire - onto the floor. The soldier found a waterskin and set to work, trying to coax him into taking a few sips at a time. Nerussa began casting a healing spell, but it didn’t seem to be helping. Kaidan could just make out some familiar markings on the Elf’s body, and he realised his hand had reflexively moved to his upper arm, where pale silver tracings still lay.

“Who _is_ he, Nerussa?” Lucien asked.

She looked at him. “It’s Äelberon of Dusk.” Kaidan saw Lucien’s brain start ticking away, and the group were silent for a brief while. The two males had caught up, now, and it was laughably obvious why they hadn’t been allowed to help - an emaciated Breton and the curly-haired Wood Elf who had taken Nerussa’s things. How they would have expected to support this Äelberon, he had no idea. Lucien let out a quiet “oh…” but said nothing more.

“He’s been tortured. So has _he_ ,” she waved a hand at the Breton, “and he’s very, very ill. Damn fool tried to take on a frost troll with his bare fists, too.”

“What are we going to _do?_ ” The Wood Elf was wide-eyed, jumpy. Well, he wasn’t sure what had happened, but clearly nothing good if Delphine’s contact had needed to make a run for it.

“We’re going to save his damn life, that’s what,” she snapped. Pinching her nose in frustration, she turned to Lucien. “You’ve got my coin, yes? Can you and Kaidan fetch the carriage, please? Take them with you - Caranwe, have a look through the pack over there, I’ve got a set of spare clothes that should more or less fit you, you’ll have to ditch the armour, obviously.” She had ripped one of the few clean pieces of fabric off her dress, doused it in water, and was pressing it to the Elf’s brow. Kaidan reached into his own pack for his clean washcloth and passed it to her. She took it, smiling weakly up at him. His heart ached, to see the fear in her eyes, fear he had never seen there before.

“If one of the other drivers is resting up before heading back to their own city, I want you to put these three on a carriage to Riften. Caranwe, I’m trusting you with this. Go to the Jarl’s palace and ask for an escort to Honeyside. Quick, give me some paper, Lucien, I’ll write a note, so they know it’s not a ruse. Do not leave the house until I get there. Got that, soldier? Good.” She looked to Lucien again. “If it’s only Thaer, just… bring him here, we’ll all go together, I suppose.”

The soldier, this Caranwe, was already changing behind the Word Wall. Lucien found a tunic and handed it, a little reluctantly, to the Breton. Hopefully the stains on the man’s breeches would be less noticeable by the weak lamplight at the carriage stop.

Kaidan wasn’t happy leaving Nerussa alone with the sickly Elf, but he knew all too well he wouldn’t be able to change her mind. Before they set off, they all took a swallow from a bottle of mead - well, Lucien spat his out. Just a group of foreigners with booze on their breath, after a night at the Four Shields Tavern. Nothing to see, here. He looked over his shoulder as they set off, and again his heart ached as he saw Nerussa’s shoulders slump when she thought nobody was looking.


	82. Chapter 82

“Äelberon, please, try to stay awake…”

He was refusing to take the potion she’d offered him, and the only healing magicks she knew were for physical damage. Not terribly useful against a raging infection of the chest, though at least Lucien’s base cure poison spell might have helped with the lingering effects of that aspect of his time in the dungeon. Damn Rulindil, and damn Elenwen, and double bloody damn Ondolemar. No wonder he’d been in such a bloody damn good mood, probably anticipating a resurrection of his dead-end career after that coup. Ha! Those hopes would have been rather dashed by now. Oghma’s tits, she hoped the carriage arrived before any Thalmor came this way. At least she’d been right about the fire being concealed by the Word Wall.

“What’s that smell? Smells… sweet. Like ’ome.” She blinked. His voice – the deep tone was unchanged, but the way he shaped the words sounded almost like how Ulundil spoke. The first time they had met, he had spoken with an accent identifiable to anyone in earshot as Dusken, but it was the merest trace compared to this. “You got an orange tree in your knickers, Nordling?”

She burst out laughing at that, thought for a moment, then reached for her pack, pulling a rather squashed Summerset Orange Cake from the robe she had wrapped them in, and waving it in front of his nose. “Do you mean this?” ’

He nodded. “May I ’ave a piece?” He seemed almost shy about it. Gods, the cakes had made her homesick, how must they be affecting him? Aside from the Symposium, sixteen years ago, he surely hadn’t been in Alinor in over a century – since his exile. She broke off a piece and did her best to lift his head and shoulders a little so he could swallow it.

“If you take the potion, you might be able to eat more, you know.”

“’F I take the potion, cake won’t taste as good.”

“Ah yes, I remember that about you – an answer for everything…” He began a rasping chuckle, and for an awful moment she thought he was choking on the cake, but it seemed to merely have irritated his throat and set him to coughing again. 

“Mm, a bit crumbly, damn Northern recipe.” He grumbled.

“I can take it back.”

“ _No_ … crumbly cake better’n none.” He coughed, furrowing his bushy brows.

When he was still once more, she felt in the pack she had left with Kaidan and Lucien for some juniper berries, blue mountain flowers, a piece of tree bark, and the carefully-wrapped, half-full jar of honey. She was sure Lucien wouldn’t mind her borrowing his tea things.

“Will you drink some tea? Nothing disgusting in it, I promise. Plenty of honey.”

Gods, where were they going to take him? Solitude and Markarth were obviously unsafe. Whiterun, perhaps, but it was an obvious choice, even bloody Elenwen could work that one out. And it was a little further than she felt confident taking Äelberon. Morthal might be safe – she thought Idgrod could be trusted – but the location was no good, he needed warmth and dry air, not a damn swamp.

“Will there be more cake?” He was certainly persistent. She hoped that was a good sign. Riften was definitely too far, though it was probably the safest place, assuming things went as planned with the Guild. Oh, but the Thalmor would be heading there. No, not Riften, not yet. Riverwood? No, she didn’t trust Delphine – she couldn’t imagine the Breton woman would hand anyone over to the Thalmor, but she could make things difficult in other ways.

“Ah, even if it’s a crumbly Northern recipe?” A tiny, teasing smile formed on his lips. Even as sick as he was, he was still playing with her. That had not changed either. “If you drink a cup of tea, and if we can get you sitting up a bit more, yes, I promise.”

“Very well, then.” She was already heating the water over the fire, with the ingredients already in the pot. Lucien had explained that this gave the best combination of taste and mild healing effect. The bark was one Arcadia had told her would help with fevers – after the nasty business with the spiders in Ustengrav, she had taken a few actual lessons with the pushy Imperial woman, on alchemy and simple treatments such as poultices and which ingredients would aid in recovery from insect venom. If she couldn’t get him to take a potion, this would have to do for now.

What about Rorikstead? It would be an enormous risk for Lydia’s family, she didn’t really feel able to ask them that, but perhaps at least for tonight – they could reach the farmstead not long after midnight, if the carriage ride wasn’t too eventful. The farm house was warm and dry… Yes, Rorikstead, at least for tonight. Perhaps in the morning they could send to Whiterun for a healer to visit.

She tried not to think about whether Äelberon would survive even that trip.

Soon, the tea was ready, and she added a good dollop of honey.

“S’got _bits_ in,” he huffed.

“Now look here, you are Äelberon of Dusk, Knight of the Crystal Tower, Slayer of Bet. A hundred and fifty years older than me, if not more. Stop acting like such an _elfling_ , clinging to your Lenya’s skirts!”

He pouted for a moment, but she caught another small quirk of the lips, not quite a smile, but not bad, given his condition. And probably better than an actual laugh, given the last one.

She held the tea, and he sipped from the cup as best he could, propped upright on the two packs, far from comfortable, but the best she could manage. She mopped his brow with a damp piece of cloth, dipped in the rapidly cooling remains of the tea. Lukewarm water should help reduce the fever a little. She hoped.

A thought occurred to her. “You didn’t seem very surprised to see me. _Why_ didn’t you seem very surprised to see me? My ears almost fell off when I saw _you!_ ”

“I drank my tea, Nordling. I am waiting for my cake.” She broke him off another piece. His speech was returning to the pattern she was used to, and she hoped that was a good sign. “Thank you. Much better. Are there any more, for later?” He tried to turn his head toward the pack, then apparently thought better of it.

“Stop trying to change the subject. But yes, of course there bloody are, I stuffed as many as I could into my pack. Anyway, you were saying..?"

She wasn’t sure if she saw a twinkle in his eye, the reflected fire light, or the fever, but when he spoke, any amusement was gone from his voice.

“I received… a letter from a Vigilant of Stendarr named Tyranus, asking for assistance with a matter in Markarth...” He took a labored breath before continuing. “He was… concerned about an abandoned property near the city gates, as he had heard rumours that led him to suspect it was being used for Daedra worship.” Another pause and Nerussa was beginning to worry that perhaps the talking was taking too much effort, but he continued. “He had visited the city on several occasions, but nobody would speak to him, and his Order believed he was mistaken. I was living in Bruma – you may have heard of the place?”

It must have shown in her face, as he nodded and continued, “of course you have. You look so like the statue.” He scrutinized her carefully, the eyes narrowing. “Aye, same eyes, hmph…” Statue? Damn, was he delirious, now? He seemed lucid enough. “In any case, if one knows how to cross a border safely, it is only a few days’ journey from Bruma to Markarth, less if you’re a stubborn Old Fart who refuses to stop to rest more than is strictly necessary for his horse’s health…” A stricken look crossed his face, but he blinked it away and carried on. “As I said, I would rather not discuss what occurred when I arrived in Markarth just yet. The wounds are still fresh, so to speak. Ah, but you didn’t ask why I was here, did you?” He paused to catch his breath and his eyes found the fire.

“As to why I was unsurprised to see _you_ , as I am sure you will have discovered – the Dossier you took from _Master_ Rulindil’s desk was not the only one you were interested in, I am sure? Yes, as I thought. As you will have doubtless read, they believe you and I had interactions beyond the Vampire Symposium. Possibly even before then. You were poking around the records office before you were… removed, were you not?”

“You were so different from how the official version of events portrayed you. I did my best to…remove some of the memories myself, and had the rest dealt with officially. But over the last few years, things started coming back to me. I couldn’t make sense of it. So, yes, I went looking for answers. Apparently I wasn’t very good at sneaking around back then…” Nerussa replied.

He looked at her very seriously for a moment. “That has changed, eh? It must have, for you to have arrived in the dungeon un-noticed. In any case, they were asking what I knew of you, where you were, whether I was involved in rescuing you and Ulfric Stormcloak from the chaos of Helgen… I must admit, ’twas a struggle not to laugh at the thought of you and Ulfric Stormcloak on the run together…” His words trailed off, and he seemed to be resting.

Suddenly, he sat bolt upright and clutched at her arm and even through the fabric, she could feel the heat of his fever. It wasn’t going down. “Ebonnayne! Where is she? You’ll bring her to me, won’t you?”

“Who’s Ebonnayne?”

He let go of her and started mumbling, no, he was singing in – gods, was that _Altmeris?_ It was so long since she’d encountered anyone able to speak the language, and he was beginning to slur his words a little, so it took a while before she could be sure. But yes, it was Altmeris. It wasn’t any of the poems she was familiar with, though, neither the Classics taught in school – some of which must originally have been songs – nor the fragmentary remnants of lesser-known works that she’d found in her linguistic studies.

Was this something he’d written _himself?_ Gods, did he speak the language _that_ well? By all accounts people of his station were not even allowed to learn the language. It was breathtaking, whoever had written it. The imagery! She had never seen a place like the one he was describing before. She was no poet, couldn’t hope to translate it into verse in Tamrielic, but it was evidently about someone very much beloved. The melody was clearly simplified, almost like a lullaby her Senna used to sing to her – her Lenya was never one for singing, nor was Senna normally, but sometimes, if she had been very good... She only realised she was crying when two fat teardrops splashed on the hands folded in her lap.

He finished singing, and repeated his previous words, almost. “You will bring her to me.” This time he sounded much more certain.

“If I can, Äelberon, of course I will.” He seemed content with that. He lay back on the bedrolls and smiled, his eyes fluttering shut.

He was quiet for a while, allowing her to dampen his brow again. Soon, though, his lips began to move. His voice was cracking, barely above a whisper. She couldn’t make out all the words, but it was clearly a prayer, although… a good deal less formal than the ones she remembered the Priests at the Temple reciting. He spoke of his love of "his Blessed Isles", and of his regret that he had been unable to avenge his parents’ deaths, finishing with the words, “I leave my fate to you.” 

She realised with growing horror that he was preparing for death. He spoke again in Altmeris, and as soon as she heard the word Ebonnayne, she made herself stop listening, thinking back to the Dossier and the… well, the lies the Thalmor had spread about the noble Mer in front of her – of common birth, perhaps, but a damn sight more noble than any other Altmer she had met, with one exception – Queen Calianwe. He had done so much for his people, and this was how they repaid him.

He was growing quiet again, and she found herself taking his hand in both of hers. One red-orange eye flickered briefly open and she thought she felt a faint pressure from his fingers.

“Not fret, child...”

It was barely audible. She made herself smile, but was unsure if he even registered it. She wanted to count, but made herself say soothing words, stroke his hair, sing that song her Senna used to sing. The smallest smile played over his lips and then – oh gods, there was a slackness that… He couldn’t be gone? Not him! For a moment she was frozen, then she found herself bent over his body, hands still clasped around his, rocking gently at first, then more forcefully back and forth as she sobbed, eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Gradually, she became aware of a soft glow suffusing her closed eyelids. The fire? No, it was something different, something new. She wiped her face on one of the tattered chiffon veils – vaguely wondering whether she would ever have such a pretty dress again, and whether she’d be able to avoid ruining that one – and forced her stinging eyes open. The light was… was coming from Äelberon. He was glowing.


	83. Chapter 83

**29th Sun’s Dusk (small hours)**

~~Well, that didn’t go as anticipated.~~

~~I suppose I know what the nightmares were about now.~~

~~Bloody shitting Oblivion.~~

Äelberon of Dusk is here.

Actually, Äelberon of Dusk is here, wide awake, and trying to talk to me. I suppose now is not the time for diary-writing.

***

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Nerussa said, sternly.

“I could say the same of you, Nordling.”

“ _I _have not returned from the dead tonight. Nor have I got a raging infection of the chest, nor do I bear dozens of recently-inflicted wounds that have been left untreated until tonight.”__

__He attempted a nonchalant wave of the hand, which would have been rather more convincing, had the motion not set off yet another coughing fit. She hoped the Temple of Kynareth would be able to spare Danica or one of the other healers in the morning – she had wanted to send Lydia as soon as they arrived, but Äelberon had refused to allow “any further unnecessary disruption to these good people on my behalf.”_ _

__Lydia’s Da and Ma had fussed around, preparing beds and insisting that it was no bother, that any friend of The Thane’s was a welcome guest. She was glad they’d not called her Dragonborn, she wasn’t sure she could have suppressed giggles if he’d smirked at her about that. Lucien and Kaidan had made straight for the tavern as soon as Kaidan had helped Nerussa get Äelberon safely into the house. She was glad there had been a second carriage - for now she was more comfortable with a vague worry about the three strangers in her Riften house, than having them around right now._ _

__The coughing abated, a little more quickly this time, she thought. He began to speak again, his voice a curious mixture of scholarly interest and almost child-like glee. It reminded her, funnily enough, of Lucien, if Lucien were a couple of centuries older and about twice the size._ _

__“The _Thu’um_ , eh? And _two_ different Shouts, one full strength – three words, yes? – in quick succession! So, didn’t spend the last decade atop the Throat of the World? No, that level of mastery, at this time…” Ah, there was the smirk! “And they thought you were just sending secrets to _me!_ Nordling, you have an almost unbelievable amount of luck, at times.”_ _

__“I’m not sure I’d call finding myself at the executioner’s block, being sent to various smelly old crypts, and being constantly worried that if I’m not careful when I sneeze, I’ll knock the entire market square flying, ‘luck’…”_ _

__“Well, you survived the block, for a start. You underestimate yourself, Nordling.”_ _

__She stared at her hands, folded in her lap. “You should be asleep. I know a spell that will put you to sleep, I’ll use it, if you don’t at least try.”_ _

__He looked thoughtful. “Hibernation? Very well, why not?” He looked at her, expectantly._ _

__She’d only recently learned the spell, it was supposed to be for getting away from… awkward situations, but she’d tested it on Lydia and Lucien who both agreed it wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, just a little disorientating. She hadn’t wanted to ask Kaidan, and he didn’t seem eager to volunteer._ _

__She stood and crossed the room. “Very well. If you’re sure.”_ _

__He nodded, solemnly. She reached out a hand, a soft green glow emanating from her palm, and…_ _

__He fell backwards, eyes shut. He lay, perfectly still, for all of about three seconds before his great, broad chest began shaking and he lifted a hand to his mouth to keep from waking the whole farm with his laughter. This set off a coughing fit, but she was relieved to note it was much less severe than the previous ones._ _

__He opened an eye and looked sidelong at her, which set him off laughing again._ _

__“What’s so funny?” she demanded._ _

__“Oh, Nordling, did you not read that Dossier? I am immune to Illusion spells! That is probably part of why I bother the Thalmor so much, I render some of their favourite tricks useless.”_ _

__She looked at him crossly for a moment, but the mischief in his eyes quickly set her laughing almost as hard as him. He said something about being careful not to send the furniture flying, and she laughed so hard her eyes filled with tears._ _

__When the laughter finally died down, she took a wooden plate and two tankards from a shelf and poured them both some apple juice from the earthenware flask Lucien had left. Äelberon tried to peer over at her, but she managed to obscure what she was taking from her pack, and held the plate high above her head so that he could only see what she had placed on the incongruously, yet perfectly, rustic plate when she lowered it to the table beside his bed._ _

__His orange-red eyes shone, and she thought for a moment she saw the glint of a tear. “Are those… for me?” There was that shy, almost child-like tone again. She had been intending the pastries to be shared, but instead she said “all for you, Äelberon of Dusk,” and took a sip from her tankard._ _

__He grinned and shoved the smallest of the three cakes into his mouth in one go. After taking a swallow of juice, he said, a trifle sheepishly, “apologies, Nordling, that was most uncouth of me. Please, do eat something yourself!”_ _

__She took the smaller of the two remaining cakes, a _milen_ , and took a delicate bite, one hand cupped underneath her mouth to catch crumbs._ _

__Äelberon was smirking again._ _

__“What? What have I done?”_ _

__“Your manners, Nordling. One foot firmly in Skyrim, one hand clinging to a vestige of Altmer decorum. Ah, do not frown, I mean no ill…”_ _

__“No, I was frowning because you’re right. I’m no longer sure where I belong, but it’s more than the change of setting. I was just thinking of my Dossier. They… There is some doubt, apparently, over Father’s parentage. I already knew about Mother being… well, her mother’s husband was not her true father, but fortunately for Mother, unlike me, she took after her own mother entirely. Slender, golden eyes and so on.”_ _

__He nodded. The formal system of marriage allocations had been in its infancy when Nerussa’s mother was born, and only applied to the upper Echelons, as far as she understood the history, but there had long been Altmer couples who were far from happy with their matches. It wasn’t unheard of for a child resulting from an affair to be raised as legitimate progeny of the married couple, although it was more usual for the affair to be with another Altmer of similar station, not a human servant. She wondered whether Äelberon had been Assigned, and what had become of his bride, if so._ _

__“Senna, though. Well, she was the one who told me about Mother’s ‘little secret’, and always seemed suitably shocked by it. She was always… eccentric, you might say, but in a proper sort of way. She spent some time in Morrowind, working with House Telvanni and studying the alchemical properties of the local flora and fauna, that sort of thing. She was carrying my father when she returned, but she had all the correct documentation proving her marriage and estrangement from her husband.”_ _

__A strange expression crossed Äelberon’s face, but it was gone before she could puzzle out what it might mean._ _

__“I miss her, you know. She was always… well, barmy, you know what She-Elves of her generation are like. But she was always… I could talk to her, if I needed to. She’d get out those cards of hers, and tell my ‘fortune,’ and by the end of it, I’d always feel a little more able to move forward.”_ _

__Äelberon nodded again, and she thought she saw a slight frown on his face, as though he was trying to decide something. Then he picked up the final pastry and bit into it – perhaps he was simply debating whether to abide by manners or his stomach? In any case, she was growing sleepy, and hoped perhaps he was, too, so she decided not to ask._ _

__Instead, she made a bit of a performance of getting back into her bed. Anyone back home would have been scandalised at the two of them sharing a room, even with the beds on opposite sides of it. Though, of course, she thought sadly, most back home would be horrified at the two of them simply existing, let alone in the same room. Fortunately, Nords didn’t seem to give a skeever’s arse about the propriety of sleeping arrangements._ _

__For a few minutes, he was quiet, and she thought he might actually be asleep._ _

__“So, these friends of yourne…” Ah, the accent was back. Well, maybe he was at least growing sleepy. “Kaidan, was it? Interesting name. Not heard it in use, much… Handsome, i’n’t he?” He smirked at her bashful expression. “And the little fair-haired one, Lucien? Didn’t catch the last name, but he looks familiar, somehow.”_ _

__“Speaking of names… thank you for not using mine.”_ _

__“Got a lot more practice hiding and using different names’n you, Nordling. So, what should I call you? I can go with ‘The Thane’ if you wish, but it might strike people as odd from a fellow Altmer, even an ugly old codger like me!”_ _

__“You’re not old, or ugly!”_ _

__“But codger I am, hey? And you are very kind, Nordling, but we both know why I had my face obscured at the Symposium, and that it was not solely to hide my identity… In any case, I cannot keep calling you Nordling, t’would confuse the locals.”_ _

__“I’ve been going by ‘Nerussa’. First thing that popped into my head when someone asked. I should probably have made up something glamorous, ending in –iel, I expect. Always wanted an –iel name when I was young, and I end up as an – _ussa_ …” She scowled._ _

__She could hear the smirk this time, she would have sworn it. “And the lads, do they know?”_ _

__“About my past? Yes, they do. Lydia, too. She’s brighter than she’s given credit for, she actually asked me about it, while we were, um, rescuing her cousin - and Kaidan - from some of my former colleagues. A fine smith, too.”_ _

__Äelberon’s voice brightened. “A smith! Do you suppose there’s a forge nearby?” She doubted he had missed what she had said about Kaidan, and suspected he would ask more on that at a later date._ _

__Nerussa was about to answer when an almighty din began above their heads. By the sound of it, a mammoth had crashed through the wall, followed by – she was sitting up now and looked around at Äelberon who was smiling, really, properly smiling for the first time, and trying to stand, not altogether successfully._ _

__“What is it?”_ _

__“Damn legs. Damn Thalmor. Please, open the…”_ _

__But before he could finish, the door burst open and a flurry of white and grey sped across the room and began joyfully licking as much of Äelberon as possible. Lydia’s Da followed the husky in, looking at first apologetic, then confused, then pleased at the apparent reunion._ _

__“He’s been making a Dagon of a racket, Thane, ever since you and… his Lordship? got here, the barn he and the other dogs were in is behind the farmhouse, though, so we didn’t hear them until we’d all, er, gone back to bed. In the end, I went to take them some table scraps – my wife says I spoil my own dogs, and she’s probably not wrong, Thane, though I shouldn’t spoil yours, I suppose. Anyway, as soon as I opened the door, he was out of it like an arrow from a bow, and scrabbling at the door of the house…”_ _

__“I am no Lord, my good man, and worry not, this fat snowberry is more spoiled than your dogs could hope to be! Nerussa, this is Koor.”_ _

__It took a minute for her to realise. _Koor._ It was a word in the Dragon Tongue… _Summer.__ _

__***_ _

__“I do not need a healer. I am perfectly capable of healing myself!”_ _

__“You died last night, which you must explain to me properly when I get back from Riften.” She straightened her cuffs, and pushed her hair back behind her ears. “The effects of that poison still haven’t fully worn off, have they? Lucien and I are both getting better at healing, but we’ve only got quite simple spells, and no cure disease, so _we_ can’t help you much, and did I mention I have to run down to Riften and hope the Thalmor don’t get there first? I’m not leaving you like this with nobody who can truly help. You. Need. A healer.”_ _

__Äelberon made a show of pouting, but it wasn’t long before it wobbled into the now-familiar smirk._ _

__Nerussa rolled her eyes at him, and sealed the stoppers on the batch of healing potions she and Lucien had been working on. “I’ll leave a few of these here, I know _you_ won’t take them, Äelberon, but if you could give them to Danica as a donation for the Temple? I suspect she’ll refuse payment in gold, but these are reasonably strong and should be useful for someone who’ll actually take the damn things.”_ _

__“Nordling, I shall gladly give these away,” said Äelberon in a Very Serious Tone, his hand pressed to his chest._ _

__“Good. Now, I’ve got to… handle some business in Riften on Tirdas evening as well, so Kaidan and I will probably head straight back there from Riverwood rather than returning to Rorikstead, unless Lucien lets me know we’re needed back here more urgently with the Resonant Sphere. That’s assuming this Esbern fellow wants to go to Delphine. I’m not sure what to do with him otherwise, I can hardly bring him here, it’s enough of a risk having you here, Äelberon…”_ _

__His face darkened, and for a moment she was worried he’d try and refuse to remain in the farmhouse. Before she could say anything – damn her tendency to think aloud – Lydia spoke up. “Ha, let them come, Cousin Dagmir is visiting Aunt Nilif this week and he and the whole family would love to repay them for their brief hospitality.”_ _

__Before Nerussa could respond, the door opened and Lucien escorted Danica Pure-Spring into the basement room. Any indication of Äelberon’s earlier playful sulkiness was gone, and he welcomed the Priestess of Kynareth warmly. Nerussa picked up her pack, said her farewells, and left, followed by Lucien who was obviously bursting with questions._ _

__“I haven’t read _much_ about him, just a few fragments and hints here and there. Do you think he’d mind if I… no, I should let him rest… Oh, but the things he must have _experienced_...” _ _

__They headed back to the inn and found Kaidan and as the young man that Lydia had promised to take to Whiterun, waiting on the porch. The Nord introduced himself excitedly as “Erik the Slayer!!”, and asked if he could carry anything for them._ _

__“You want to be an adventurer, yes? First lesson: don’t offer to carry other people’s things.”_ _

__Kaidan grinned, but said nothing, just winking at Nerussa as he shifted the pack which contained at least a few of her belongings onto his back._ _

__“Yes, ma’am!!” He hurried to keep up with them, but as they passed the dragon mound – still sealed – where the road turned east she heard his steps stop suddenly. She turned and saw his face had fallen._ _

__“Whatever is the matter, bo – _Erik?_ ”_ _

__“I don’t have any money! She… Miss... _Lydia_ said she would buy me a set of armour, but she hasn’t come and…”_ _

__“Relax, Erik. Lydia gave me the money, it’s all taken care of.” In fact, she had a feeling Lydia’s coin would only cover about half the cost of what the lad needed, but Nerussa had picked up a few things in the Embassy that she could sell to Arcadia and Farengar for more than enough for a simple set of steel armour, a weapon, and perhaps a couple of training sessions for him with… was it Farkas? One of the Companions, anyway._ _

__Half an hour for some trading wouldn’t make much difference, either she would beat the Thalmor to Riften or she was already too late. Although if Delphine was anything to go by, this Old Blade was probably not exactly welcoming to visitors, and a Thane of the Rift would enjoy rather freer movement through the hold than a Thalmor patrol. Especially having sent word with Caranwe and the others not to permit any unfamiliar Altmer to enter the city, aside from Caranwe herself, of course._ _


	84. Chapter 84

**12th Hearthfire, 3E433, Bruma**

_Linni,_

You would hate this place! Snow everywhere, hardly any Mer, Chapel of T---s… Still, I find myself feeling strangely at home here. Perhaps my companion, Vilja, has something to do with it. She is a Nord and I think the locals are friendlier to the pair of us because of that. We’re staying in the Mages’ Guild quarters, I am collecting recommendations to join the Arcane University, seems like it could come in useful.

Linni, there is so much I am unable to tell you in this letter. I am afraid to write some of it down. It just sounds so… preposterous. The least bizarre part – please refrain from telling Mother and Father – is that I found myself in prison a few weeks ago. I was only there briefly, though, have no fear.

Are those Gates opening in Summerset? There have been several spotted here in Cyrodiil, the first one was in Kvatch. The whole city, destroyed overnight – hardly anyone made it out alive. There are rumours of Daedra worship back home, as well. Might be wise to hold off on your Summoning practice for now? I know, I know, you know what you’re doing, but… just be careful, Linni?

Well, I should go for now – I have an appointment with one of the Guild members about my recommendation. I am supposed to track down a missing member, but between you and me, I used a detect life spell and I know full well he has been here all evening. I shall be interested to see what the Mer I am due to meet has to say about that…

Love you, Linni – give little Lani many kisses from me.

_Rilli_

***

**30th Sun’s Dusk, Riverwood**

Very strange having Aunt Estoril’s letters back. Thankfully I don’t think whoever went through them was very thorough, they seemingly assumed everything in the bundle was from Senna to me. Glad to have those back, as well, of course, but they are more… ordinary. An elderly She-Elf writing formal notes to her granddaughter who will soon be leaving the country for a new position in Foreign Parts, and the couple of letters that somehow managed to make it here in the two weeks I was at the Embassy before being sent to Darkwater. She must have sent them before I left, I suppose.

But, well, Aunt Estoril’s letters… I mean, she wasn’t Dragonborn or anything, but she was mixed up in the Oblivion Crisis. I find myself even more fascinated by trying to read between the lines of them than I did when I used to sneak away and read them as an Elfling. I wonder what Äelberon would make of them. Senna gave them to me, to take with me – at the time I thought she just wanted them safely out of her home, but now I’m not so sure. Maybe she saw something in those cards of hers?

In any case, I am now in Riverwood. Made it to Riften in one piece, snuck through the Warrens, and found my way to the room with all the locks – sure enough, it was this Esbern’s hidey hole. Had to fight past a few Thalmor – nobody I recognised – to get out, and then encountered Shavari, of all people, as we were preparing to leave the city. Strangely, attacking a Thane of the Rift at sunset does not win you friends among the guard. I wouldn’t say we were ever friends, but we used to get along well enough. Kaidan stayed behind to keep an eye on Caranwe and Malborn - Etienne is back in the Ratway somewhere - and one of the guards insisted on escorting the carriage as far as the turn before Ivarstead. I got to Riverwood around midnight, I think, and Delphine and Esbern were gone by the time I woke – apparently they will contact me “when the time is right”. So, a leisurely stroll to Whiterun this morning, make sure young Erik has had his training and his armour fitted, and then the carriage back to Riften. 

I didn’t get a chance to show Kaidan the Dossier I found yesterday, but having re-read it on the carriage ride here, I’m certain it will interest him. His guardian’s name is listed as part of a settlement on Northwind Mountain, which I believe is the mountain in the Rift that overlooks the flats of Eastmarch. I think, maybe… Well, we’ll see.

***

**5th Frostfall, 3E433, Anvil**

_Linni,_

Hopefully this letter will reach you more quickly than my last one – I know not how you managed to reply, but thank you! And yes, you were right, I did more than just hear about that Gate. You always can see right through me. I had little choice, though, or at least, I did not let myself wonder if I did. It was not just me. Vilja was with me. It was revolting in there, but we made it through. Thankfully most of the Daedra we faced were weak. Probably weaker than the ones you ran across in those ruins on Vvardenfell. They are getting stronger, though. So far I have only encountered four or five more Gates, in the wilds, but near roads. I could not leave them open, Linni. I know you would understand that feeling.

I am now a fully-fledged member of the Mages’ Guild! Along with one or two other little organisations. Aside from that, I have been being very sensible and safe. Most of my time has been spent with my nose in a book, or traipsing around between the cities looking for alchemical ingredients, particularly a rather strange green plant known as nirnroot. I think my research is almost complete, however, and I may have to go into greater danger before the moons are full. Would you, perhaps, speak to your priest friend, ask him to say a blessing for me? If you can tear your eyes away from his backside, that is…

I’ve enclosed a little something for Lani, made by the finest seamstress (Altmer, of course) in the Imperial City. Love you, sister.

_Rilli_


	85. Chapter 85

“Kaidan, would you come out to the porch with me? I found something in the Embassy that I think will interest you.” He looked at her quizzically, but nodded and followed her through the door. They sat at the small table overlooking the dock, and as the breeze picked up, she realised it might not have been the best idea. Still, Honeyside was small, and with the current rate of occupancy, far too crowded for this kind of conversation.

She pulled the Dossier out of her pack, and handed it to him. “You’ll probably want to read the whole thing, but I marked the pages I think are most relevant to you.”

“By the Nine, another Thalmor Dossier? Did you just empty the record room into your pack?” He carefully opened the slim volume to the first marked page, giving her a lopsided grin before turning his attention to what was written. 

“So, they were tracking these Akaviri clans, scattered throughout Tamriel… with links to the Blades…” His face grew pained as he read on, turning to the second page she had marked. “Gods… this is an account of… of genocide!” He sat quietly for a few minutes, and she watched him, unsure if she had done the right thing in giving him the book.

“Maybe not all the clans are gone? I’m sure there’s places they could hide...”

He brightened, a little. “You’re right. Thank you, this Dossier is an incredible lead. And I can see why you marked this page - Brynjar’s name… I suppose that must have been… my clan?” He went back and read the rest. “It says the Reach site is closed off, and nothing remains of the settlement in the far North, but… it sounds like there could have been survivors who escaped. On this last page, it says ‘physical signs of recent parturition’. Any idea what that word means?”

She nodded, and spoke quietly. “It means she had recently given birth. You’re, what, twenty-five?”

“Mmhm. So, this Blades Agent, ‘Meixiu Khim’... She might have been... my mother?” He sounded so young as he spoke. She wanted to reach out, offer him some physical comfort, but she wasn’t sure it was what he needed, exactly.

“I’d say it looks very likely. Northwind Mountain, that’s not far from here, is it?”

“You’re right, think it must be referring to that closed up mine on the way to Darkwater Crossing. Wouldn’t mind having a look, some day, if we’ve got time. ’S not urgent, o’ course...”

She smiled at him, and leaned across to show him the page in her journal where she wrote out plans for the month. “Tomorrow is free, if that’s not too soon?” His eyes grew soft as he met her gaze.

“Not too soon, at all. Thank you.”

***

They set off in the late morning, figuring on camping overnight, rather than coming back to a cramped Honeyside. Nerussa had finally found a comfortable dress that she could walk in without feeling restricted, a soft, forest green, embroidered woolen gown with a brown over-shirt. It was nearly warm enough to be wearable without a cloak in the daytime, at least in the Rift, although she knew she'd be glad of her fur later. 

The walk was uneventful, the most excitement being when they greeted Filnjar as they passed Shor’s Stone, the miners no longer stuck miserably outside. They talked comfortably along the way, finally arriving at the abandoned mine as the sun was just beginning to set. Inside, they found an infestation of Imps, nasty things, but not hard to get by. The Dragon at the summit, on the other hand… 

After what felt like hours - although it couldn’t have been, the sky was still mottled with pinks and oranges - the beast was grounded. Nerussa, standing behind the beast, charging yet more fire bolts, realised she couldn’t see Kaidan. The Dragon bellowed out a _YOL_ and she saw him, wreathed in flames in front of the creature. She wasn’t sure if she screamed or Shouted, but the next thing she knew she was standing between Kaidan and the Dragon, pale gold ward holding firm, her last Firebolt just enough to finish the creature off. She frantically swallowed a magicka potion so she could cast her strongest healing spell, cursing that she didn’t have a better one.

“Hey, hey… I’m all right.” He didn’t bloody look it, but she decided not to argue, offering a hand to help him to his feet. She insisted on casting the spell again, though, just to be sure.

When she had calmed down, they stood looking out over Eastmarch, the sunset blazing its last, a wash of pink bleeding into indigo over the Velothi mountains, patches of colours she hadn’t seen since Alinor glowing as night approached.

“Look at that view! An incredible place to build a settlement.”

She nodded, glancing sideways at him, without turning her head. “It’s… spectacular. I’m glad you’re seeing the beauty of the land…”

He didn’t seem to have heard her, and carried on. “This mountain’s like a natural fortress - you could see anyone coming for miles from up here! No wonder a village of miners was able to hold off a Thalmor siege for so long. With a few simple traps in the tunnels… Why are you looking at me like that?”

She did her best to keep a straight face as she spoke. “Just thinking how subjective beauty can be.” He grinned, a little sheepishly, and met her gaze steadily.

“Ah, I did miss the picturesque, didn’t I? A good thing I have you around to remind me to appreciate the beautiful…” His voice was so soft. She broke his gaze for a moment, looking past him, noticing what looked like a burial cairn, with… 

“Is that Dragon script..?” She walked closer, catching the slightly dazed expression on Kaidan’s face as she passed him.

“Viin...tu…ruth. Hm. Could be a Shout, or a Dragon’s name. Oh, and it looks like…” She carefully lifted aside a rock balanced beneath the writing, shooing Kaidan out of the dying light. A small pile of gold and silver coin, and a carved ring with some kind of enchantment. She stood up.

“What did you find? Huh. Must’ve been left behind by the villagers. I can see now why they may have used the Dragon language to leave their messages - Akaviri symbols on Nordic ruins might have been too obvious.”

“That would make sense. I presume the writing is another clue, although I’m not entirely sure where it’s pointing us, yet. I suppose it doesn’t mean anything to you? Viinturuth?” He shook his head. “Translates to ‘shine, hammer, rage’ if I’m parsing it correctly. Hm. Well, perhaps we’ll stumble on something else, soon…”

“Aye. Thank you, again, for helping with this. It… It means a lot. Come on, we should make camp. Thought maybe we’d head back to Autumnshade Clearing, it’s not too far from here…” She smiled and let him help her up, walking briskly over to where she had dropped her pack to fight the Dragon.


	86. Chapter 86

"You know, Kaidan, I'm surprised you're not… I'm not sure of the right word in these parts. Back home we'd say 'entangled'..." The moons were barely more than slivers, and she had cast her Candlelight spell at least a dozen times since they started walking, but it was a clear night, and there were worse places by far that she could have found herself that evening.

She could hear the grin in his voice as he replied. "Taken, you mean? Must be my sparkling personality! Nah, truth be told, a quiver is easy enough to come by, but I've got my sights set higher than that."

She rolled her eyes, stopping in her tracks. "Quiver? _Really_?" He laughed, though his eyes were awfully intent on hers when he turned to look at her, burning red, even under the pale blue light of her spell.

"Well, what would you have me call it?"

"Oh, you should know not to get _me_ started on words, Kaidan." He feigned a pout, which made her smirk.

"I dunno, could be quite… illuminating." She made herself look straight ahead, and started walking again. "We're not far from the clearing. Hopefully no more Spriggans have moved in…"

***

To her enormous relief, they had not. She was tired in a pleasant sort of way, and didn't much want to tip it over into exhaustion with a fight.

The half-stump was still solid enough to build another fire in, and Kaidan set to work cutting firewood, starting a small cooking fire, and getting the larger fire set up for later. As he did, she set about collecting kindling and tinder, and unpacking the clay pot of beef stew they had brought for their evening meal.

"Do you remember how hopeless I was last time we were here? Stamping around, getting angry because all the leaves were soggy?" He grinned at her, his eyes sparkling with amusement at the memory. "I hope I'm not still quite that bad?"

"No, you're a fine little tinder-gatherer now,” he said, his voice approving.

"Hah, not often anyone calls me little!"

"Guess not. You're a perfect size, though." 

She was glad that the cooking fire didn't give off much light, because she was sure she was blushing. 

"Oh? Perfect for what..?"

"Well, there's not many people I can… talk to without getting a sore neck, for one thing." His tone was lightly teasing, and she raised an eyebrow. 

"I see…"

***

When she came back from rinsing the dinner things at the lake, Nerussa stood looking down at the pile of wood in the stump. Kaidan looked at her, a questioning look on his face.

"It occurred to me the other day, perhaps I ought to learn to light a fire. Without a flame spell, I mean."

He nodded. "Not a bad idea, that. Tell you what, you get sat down there," he indicated the logs piled in the old stump, "and I'll show you how to use a flint and steel."

She did her best not to show that she wasn't totally sure what that meant, and kneeled by the not-yet-fire, sitting on her heels.

He pulled a small, battered leather pouch from his pack, and sat next to her. He tipped the contents of the pouch into his hand, a stone of some kind, and a piece of dark metal, twisted into an elongated C shape. He threaded his three middle fingers nimbly through the metal piece, obviously having done so a thousand times before. Probably far more, she supposed. Holding the stone, a piece of flint, he said, in his other hand, he slowly demonstrated the motion, explaining that it was important to keep the wrist of the hand holding the ‘steel’ loose, before striking the steel quickly against the flint a few times, pointing out the sparks.

It seemed simple enough, but when she tried it, she somehow managed to scrape her knuckle on the flint, quickly becoming frustrated.

"Tell you what, it can be hard to get the angle just right the first time. I could guide your hand, might make it easier." She nodded, making a little sound of agreement. 

Kaidan shifted himself behind her body, his arms moving around her, putting his hands over hers. He adjusted her grip on the flint, and guided her right hand through the motion a few times, slowly as before, then encouraged her to have another go.

On the third try, she saw the tinder begin to glow. "There you go, now, lean in close, and blow, as soft as you can. That's it…" His voice sounded a little strange, but she was too pleased with herself for actually managing it to think too much about it. She was also vaguely aware that her forearms, which she was using to support her weight, were probably getting muddy, but she could deal with that later. She sat back up, and it took her a moment to realise his arms had snuck back around hers.

He took a deep, slightly shaky breath, then began to speak.

"You know, even with a decent fire, the cold at this time of year can get right into your bones… I could… think of a few ways to keep you warm…"

"Oh..? How do you mean?" She was acutely aware of… everything. Even more than usual. The slight damp of her skirt and the feel of Kaidan's arms and the crackling of the growing fire and the smell of the soap she had used to wash her hair and the sight of his hands resting on hers... 

"Come on, Nerussa. Think you must know by now. Seen how you look at me, and I know it's reflected in my eyes every time I steal a glance at you… Every time I'm near you, all I can think about is being closer…"

"...Oh." 

"Stay with me, tonight. You know I'll be there in the morning."

"I'm... not that sort of girl…" her voice sounded breathless. Very convincing...

He chuckled, and brushed aside her hair, his breath warm on the back of her neck, so close… "If you're sure about that, I'll not push you. But… if you'd like some help… becoming that sort of girl... Like I say, I've had a few thoughts." She thought she felt his lips graze the nape of her neck, but she could have imagined it. It wouldn't be the first time.

She shivered, and he chuckled again. "Ticklish, are you? Hmmm. Wonder how you'd react if I…" She cut him short, turning around clumsily and nearly falling over in her haste. She steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder, and then her other hand was in his hair, pulling him closer, and her lips were finally, finally pressed to his, parting ever so slightly, his arms encircling her as he chuckled into the kiss.

He pulled away for a moment, lifting his hand to cup her jaw, so gently it made her heart ache. 

"Are you blushing, Dragonborn? Let's see how long we can keep that up…"


	87. Chapter 87

Danica Pure-Spring closed the door to the bedroom where the Elf now rested. As she climbed the stairs, she was greeted by the Imperial boy with the earnest face.

“Thank you again for coming back. Is he going to be all right?”

She crossed the room and used the washbasin to clean her hands. “He’s a lot better, now, you did well to fetch me back. He’s had… a very bad experience, it will take him time to fully recover, and the infection may well come and go, even with cure disease spells, sometimes… Well, sometimes there are still traces of disease that we can’t completely reach, sort of thing.”

Lucien nodded, anxiously. “Would it be a good idea for me to learn a spell like that, Nerussa will be gone for another day or two, and if he takes another nasty turn…”

Danica smiled at the lad. “That sounds like a very smart idea, Lucien. Come, I teach better in the open air.”

They left the farmhouse, and Danica led the boy further up the mountain, the dry grass prickling her feet. She approached the Shrine of Akatosh, and knelt to offer a brief prayer. Seeing the boy’s politely confused look, she smiled, leaning on her staff as she climbed slowly to her feet.

“Do you think a Priestess of Kynareth cannot honour the other Divines? Besides, this Äelberon is, from what he said, a Priest of Auri-El, and this is the closest thing I know of to a Shrine to Him.” 

“Oh. I suppose that makes sense. Um… I don’t mean to be impolite, but I can’t help noticing, you don’t appear to have a spell tome about your person?”

She laughed, and gestured around her. “Books are not the only way to learn, child.” He looked doubtful, and she smiled to herself. “You disagree? Think of your time in Skyrim. Have you not learned from every fight, every conversation with your friends? You think you have not gained knowledge from your research until you record it in a notebook?”

“Oh, well, _yes_ , I suppose I see what you mean, but… this is different. Isn’t it?”

***

Nerussa woke, briefly confused to find herself lying under a soft fur, a warm arm wrapped around her back. She nestled into Kaidan’s chest, the night before coming back to her in a rush of memory and emotion. 

“Morning, sleepy-head.” He brushed her hair out of her face, and pulled the fur up to cover her bare shoulder. “You were starting to look cold, but I didn’t want to wake you by moving it, before.”

She turned her face to look at him. “Have you been awake long, then?”

“Aye, a little while, I reckon. Don’t know how long, I was just…” His voice trailed off. She raised herself on one elbow, looking down at him, his eyes averted at first. He met her gaze, and drew in a breath.

“Was just enjoying the feeling of having you in my arms. Didn’t know how long it would last...”

She smiled, and lay back down, her free hand lazily circling the skin on his exposed chest, realising he must have been too warm and pushed the fur down, while still making sure to keep her covered as best he could. “Were you supposing I would just up and leave when I woke?”

He sighed, shivering a little at her touch. “I don’t know, maybe I thought you’d’ve come to your senses.”

She shifted once more, bringing her face close to his. “Well, apparently that hasn’t happened yet. Sorry.” She traced the line of his cheek delicately, and they smiled softly at one another as she leaned down to kiss him. “Unfortunately, though, we do need to get to Riften. I have a few things I need to get done before I meet Karliah and Brynjolf this evening.” He looked regretful, but nodded. 

“Very well. I’ll strike camp while you bathe in the lake, if you like?” She smiled, stretching as she sat up, reaching for her clothes.

When she returned from bathing, he was sitting in the mid-morning sunlight, his hair not yet tied up, looking thoughtfully around. “I like the Rift better than anywhere in Skyrim, you know. The cold forests and broken mountains… Always seemed… familiar, somehow.” 

“It’s very unlike the Isles, but I think I agree with you. Somehow, the Rift feels… like home.” He stood, hefting his pack onto his shoulder, and smiled at her, shyly, as he reached for her hand. She grabbed her own pack, and laced her fingers between his.

“Now, that’s familiar,” he said in a teasing tone. She glanced sideways at him as they started walking, remembering waking next to him in the Winking Skeever.

“Oh, I… I didn’t think you…” She blushed, turned her face away.

“I woke a little before you did. Probably shouldn’t have hidden it, but, well, got the feeling you were hoping I didn’t notice. Didn’t want to embarrass you.”

“Oh. Thank you, then.” She wasn’t sure what to say next, so they walked the rest of the way to Riften in silence, Kaidan’s thumb occasionally stroking the back of her hand.

***

Nerussa left Riften by herself as the sun started to set. Kaidan had been reluctant to remain behind, but he hadn’t pushed too hard. She found her way to the Shadow stone first, standing for a while with her hand resting on the cool surface. She crouched down, tracing the carved face with her fingertips, remembering Kaidan pointing out the constellation to her. As she stood, a thin line of pale blue light began to shine from the top of the stone, and as she watched, the same light spread along the lines of the carving, before blinking out. 

She backed away, quietly, and made her way down the path, arriving at the meeting place where Brynjolf already stood. They waited for a few minutes, Brynjolf’s own nervous face reflecting her own feelings. Suddenly, Karliah stepped forward, out of the shadows.

“I’m glad you’re here… This is the headquarters of the Nightingales, cut into the very mountainside by the first of our kind. We have come to seek the… edge we need to defeat Mercer Frey.”

“What kind of edge?”

“If you’ll both follow me, I’ll do my best to explain on the way.” She pushed open a door, obscured by the shadow of the large, carved stone behind them. Brynjolf looked around in wonder as the narrow passage beyond the door opened into a larger chamber, tattered draperies adorning the walls. 

“So, this is Nightingale Hall… I heard about this place when I joined the Guild, of course, but I never thought it was real…”

"The assumption that the Nightingales were just a myth was seeded within the Guild on purpose. It helped avert attention from our true nature. What's wrong, Brynjolf? I can almost hear your brow furrowing."

"Just trying to understand why I'm here, lass. I'm no priest, and I'm certainly not religious. Why pick me?"

Karliah made a sound of exasperation. "This isn't about religion, Brynjolf... it's business. This is Nightingale Hall. You're the first of the uninitiated to set foot inside in over a century. Now, if you'll both proceed to the armoury and don what you find there, we can begin the Oath."

In the armoury, she and Brynjolf looked at one another, perplexed, for a moment. “I don’t see any armour, do you, lass?”

She shook her head, taking in the space. There was a large, stone block against each of the three walls, each carved with a symbol depicting a bird, wings spread beneath a circle - the sun, perhaps, or the moon. The room was dimly lit, only the front face of each block really visible in the gloom. Stepping forward, she rested her hands on the stone opposite the archway they had come through. As she looked at the top of the block, she began to make out a darker area in the shadows atop the stone. She tentatively reached out, and found her hand making contact with what felt like wonderfully soft, worn-in leather. She lifted the near-weightless pile, and remembered reading the phrase “forged midnight” in the _Fact or Fiction_ book…

Brynjolf raised his eyebrows, in fact, even his jaw dropped, just a little, as she turned back to him. He stepped toward another of the blocks, and sure enough, found another set, a little larger, to look at it. “I’ll step out, lass, so you can change.”

The deep black leather almost slid onto her body, fitting perfectly, once she realised she couldn’t keep her underwear on without it bunching up most uncomfortably. She lifted the hood of the silken cloak and slipped on the leather mask, and left the armoury. Karliah was the last to change, and seemed almost more nervous than either of them as she entered the armoury. Nerussa caught the faintest sigh of relief as she stood by the archway. 

As Karliah came back into the first chamber, Brynjolf spoke.

“So, we’ve got these getups now. What are you expecting in return?”

Karliah nodded approvingly. “Smart man, always look for the catch. To hold any hope of defeating Mercer, we need Nocturnal at our backs. And to achieve that, an arrangement must be struck.”

Brynjolf sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “And that arrangement entails..?” 

"The terms are quite simple, Brynjolf. Nocturnal will allow you to become a Nightingale and use your abilities for whatever you wish. And in return, both in life and in death, you must serve as a guardian of the Twilight Sepulcher."

“At this point, I suppose there isn't much to lose. If it means the end of Mercer Frey, you can count me in."

Karliah turned to Nerussa. “And you. Are you prepared to transact the Oath?”

Nerussa’s hand moved to her throat for a moment. “This is the only way to be sure we’ll defeat Frey? Then, yes.”


	88. Chapter 88

Slipping invisibly across the docks, Nerussa approached the steps up to the porch outside Honeyside. Kaidan was waiting for her with their packs, and she let the Invisibility fall as she walked up to him.

“Interesting new look… What happened with Karliah and Brynjolf?”

“I’ll tell you on the way, let’s get to the carriage.” 

The carriage looped around the city, following the road along the Jeralls toward Ivarstead, as she told Kaidan about the Oath she had taken. He sat quietly for a while after she finished. Finally, he spoke, looking out at the mountains, rather than at her.

“So, is this something you… want? To give your soul to Nocturnal, for eternity?”

“Not desperately. I also don’t want Mercer Frey to get away. Partly for what he did to the Guild. Partly for… this,” she indicated her throat, and he nodded, grimly. “And partly because… well, if we don’t stop him, if he gets to slip away into the shadows… Who knows what he might do, next. This is what he did to people he, presumably, considered friends, at least to start with. Imagine what he might do to total strangers.”

“Mm. That, I can get behind. Well, I hope you know what you’re doing. Not all of the Daedric Princes are… wholly evil, I know. You could certainly have made a worse choice. But… Just be careful, please.” 

“I’ll do my best.” They sat in silence for a while, until Kaidan cleared his throat.

“I’ve… got something for you.” He reached into his pack.

“Oh?” He handed her a small something, wrapped in a scrap of cloth. She carefully unfolded the fabric, and stared in astonishment at what she saw. 

“It’s… sort of a luck talisman, I suppose. I’m not much of a silversmith, but I’m pretty handy with scrimshaw, and since I had you in mind when I made it…” 

She traced the carving with her fingertip, wondering how he’d made such intricate knotwork feel so smooth. “You… carved this? For me?” 

There was a smile in his voice as he replied. “From a bit of bone from that Dragon that Lucien brought down. Bit harder to work than horker tusk, but that just means it’ll last a long time.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I know it’s not… fancy, like those earrings you were wearing the other night, or your necklaces, or that funny long ring you wear…”

She looked at him, blinking away the tears that had started to form as she looked down at the pendant. “It’s… beautiful, I love it.” 

“Well, I made it for you, after all. You’re the only…” He stopped, blushing, and looked away. She put the pendant away carefully, not wanting to risk it falling if she tried to put it on while they were on the carriage, and put her hand over his.

“The only what?”

“Ah, it’s nothing. Don’t you worry about it.”

“Kaidan, you always say something like that. I know it’s not nothing…”

He grinned, and put his arm around her shoulder. “You do, eh? Well, keep digging, you might make it to Akavir…”

“Fine, fine. What does ‘scrimshaw’ mean, then?”

***

They arrived in Rorikstead a while after sunrise, having changed onto a fresh carriage in Falkreath. Nerussa wanted to wait for a while before disturbing Lydia’s family, but Kaidan chuckled and pointed out that as farmers, even in the fallow season, they had likely been up for hours. She couldn’t bring herself to admit the real reason she was reluctant to go into the farmhouse, so they continued along the road to Alfgoll Farm.

Sure enough, Lydia’s Ma was already taking advantage of the sunny day, hanging blinding white laundry out to dry. She wrung the excess water out of the last piece, pegged it up, and hurried over to open the gate for them, beaming, but looking a little distracted. “Your Thaneship! You’re back early!”

“Please, call me Nerussa. Bad enough Lydia won’t, but at least she sort of works for me… Is everything all right? Where’s Äelberon?” Fine, she’d been worrying about how to tell him about Nocturnal, but now she was just worried.

“Oh, he’s… fine. He’s just insisting on working harder’n he should, and then he ends up back in bed again. I think he feels as though he’s… what was that word you used the first time you came here? Oh, yes. Imposing. So he’s insisting on helping around the farm, but there’s not much to do at this time of year, so he keeps having Ideas. He tried to take your Lucien hunting, and…” she hesitated. “Well, like I say, he’s fine, just a little bruised and worn out.”

By this time they were inside the farmhouse, and Nerussa was relieved to see Äelberon sitting at the kitchen table, carefully sorting through a pile of dried beans, occasionally flicking one onto a smaller pile. He didn’t look up, at first, too focussed on the job at hand, and she wasn’t sure which was more surprising, the sight of the great Knight of the Crystal Tower, sleeves rolled up, hair carefully but simply braided, whistling, up to his elbows in, well, kitchen work, or Lucien gamely helping out. Were… Were Äelberon’s feet bare? No, that was definitely the more surprising part of the picture. 

Äelberon finally noticed her standing beside him. He turned toward her, a piece of straw sticking out of his mouth, and a large bruise over one eye. He looked almost… bashful, and as he stood, palms raised, he began to speak.

“Now, Nordling, do not be too cross with me, I know I was supposed to rest, but I was feeling so much better, and I wanted to repay these good people in whatever…” he trailed off, a look of sharp concern replacing the almost playfully sheepish expression of a moment ago, as he took in her own bleak features.

“What is the matter, Youngling?”

“Can we… go somewhere? I must tell you something. I am afraid of how you shall react, but you have the right to know, to… deal with the matter as you see fit.” She found herself slipping into his own, formal speech pattern, and she was so exhausted it was hard not to fall down the rabbit hole of mentally deconstructing the linguistic variances in the common tongue. She had been unable to sleep in the carriage, though she did her best to pretend, resting her head in Kaidan’s lap, so he wouldn’t worry too much.

Damn, she was getting lost in her own mind again, she could see Äelberon was talking, but she couldn’t make out the words. Counting. That was the thing. _Para, vera, nata_ … Damn, what came next? _Para, vera, nata, ehca, ethi,_ no, _nosci… Para, vera, nata, ehca, nosci, ethi, banto, yendo, quento_ … The room started to make sense again, she stared at Äelberon’s mouth, willing the words to behave…

“…Lucien, Kaidan, you have seen her like this before, am I correct? Please, my good woman, do not trouble yourself overmuch, it is an… ailment of some of my people, she will be well again in a short while if we… ah, there you are, Nordling. Ready to go and find a quiet corner for that discussion, yes? It cannot be as bad as all that. Come, I was nearly ready for some tea in any case…”

He somehow managed to guide her without physical contact, down a short flight of stairs and through a doorway she had somehow not noticed when she had been in the cellar before. The walls were lined with stoneware jars, glazed in muted shades of green, blue and yellow, and she found herself gazing blankly at them.

“Waiting to be refilled with the results of my efforts above,” he said softly, his voice soothing in its depth. “Sit, the floor is surprisingly comfortable. I shall fetch tea and something to eat. You may rest as long as you need, and then we shall talk. I trust I have caused no offence with my use of the term ‘ailment’…”

She shook her head, no, she wasn’t offended, although as she returned to herself she found herself curious as to where he had encountered someone like her before. Certainly this was not something any Altmer would admit to, they were an eccentric people at times, but she had known from a young age that she must do her best to disguise her difficulty, to remain Normal until she could be alone and scream, or go blank, or however it manifested this time. Her parents had worried that she was possessed at first, but the priest they took her to had alleviated those worries, at least.

She sank to the floor, as carefully as she could, and felt for Kaidan’s token around her neck. She pulled the cord carefully over her head, running her fingertips over the carving again, turning the cool ivory-like bone over in her fingers, feeling herself calming down as she focused on the sensation. 

***

A while later, she couldn’t tell how long, she heard Äelberon’s footsteps on the stairs. Like Kaidan, his steps were far lighter than one would expect for someone so large, although she supposed the same could be said of her, these days. She gratefully accepted a cup of tea, pale but fragrant, with what looked like lavender buds and red mountain flower petals floating on the top. They sipped in silence for a few minutes, Nerussa aware that Äelberon was observing her, grateful that he did not insist on talking yet. He sat on the floor opposite her, and passed her a chunk of bread smeared with the soft local cheese, “from Lydia.” She found herself smiling a little.

“I think I’ve sold my soul.” Oghma’s tits, she hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that. She clapped her hand over her mouth.

Äelberon did not react at first, his eyes perhaps sharpened a little, but did not lose the look of concern. After some moments, he spoke.

“You are not the first in your family, Nordling, to feel Nocturnal’s pull.”

“What?”

“I thought you familiar when we first met, but in the circumstances I was a little distracted, and I did not place the resemblance until my return to Bruma. The Champion... She was a relation, yes? An aunt, perhaps?”

“Yes – my Senna’s younger sister! But…”

“The resemblance was not, if certain local rumours were accurate, merely skin-deep. You work with the Guild in Riften, do you not? Well, the Guild members in Bruma were just as proud of their last Gray Fox as the other residents were of their Savior, immortalised in stone by the city gate.”

“I had heard there was a statue. It’s why I never visited when I was in Cyrodiil. Well, that and the cold… And now look at me. But… the Gray Fox? Delvin mentioned that name, a bust I found in Riftweald Manor.”

“An Imperial male, hmm? Yes, officially the last Gray Fox was just such. There were rumours about his true identity, but of course nothing was ever confirmed. But the Guild members lay claim to one after him, a young She-Elf, as at home in a suit of Mithril mail as in simple common breeches and shirt. They even claim she once stole an Elder Scroll from the Imperial Library!”

“And… you think that was Father’s Auntie Estoril?” Nerussa blinked at the new idea.

“An old friend of mine knew her, and she seems to find the idea more than plausible. Very unlike her sister, of course.”

“But… were the Cyrodiil Guild Nightingales as well? I thought they were more recent!”

He regarded her seriously for a moment. She felt as though perhaps she had missed something, but she wasn’t sure what.

“No, their connection with the Night Mistress was less… friendly for some time, perhaps you have read the book Purloined Shadows? Rather a good story, is it not? Well, the master thief in that story was the original guildmaster in Cyrodiil, so they say. Verily, he gained much with that stolen cowl, but lost much as well – his very name! His place in history… As the Guild members in Bruma tell it, your Aunt aided the previous Gray Fox in a series of thefts that almost rivalled that of the Cowl of Nocturnal, and using the Elder Scroll she stole, the curse was ended. Seemingly, Nocturnal was sufficiently impressed by your Aunt’s endeavours that she was able to retain the Cowl, which doubtless proved useful navigating the Planes of Oblivion…”

Nerussa stared at her hands for a while. “So… I’m not the only black sheep in the family, then?”

He smiled. “No, youngling, it would seem not. Although how much your Senna knew, I could not tell. Sometimes I felt that that She-Elf could see into a person’s very mind.”

Slowly it dawned on Nerussa what she had missed before.

“You… Are you saying you knew Senna?”

“Oh, yes, Nordling. She had been, as I believe you mentioned, working in Morrowind in the late Third Era. When the Tribunal collapsed, her situation became quite perilous, and her friend, Archmagister Rynandor the Bold, decided it was in her best interest to return to the Isles, and I went with him to escort her home. Forgive me, I should say she decided this, she was,” that glint was in his eye again, “most insistent on that point.”

Another mystery suddenly fell into place.

“You’re her Priest friend! With the _nice arse!_ ” She clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide - however friendly they might be with one another, this was unbelievably inappropriate language to use in front of a Priest of Auri-El. She couldn’t believe it when, instead of anger, he burst out laughing - a great roar of laughter - and as before, she could not help but join in.

Suddenly she remembered what she had found the previous night. She felt in the pocket on the side of her pack, and pulled out the tightly-wound ball. Feeling strangely shy, she held it out toward Äelberon. “Is this yours? I must have picked it up in the Embassy, although I could swear I hadn’t.”

She was still too tired to decipher the expression on his face, too many feelings seemed wrapped up in it. But he nodded, and quietly took the ball. He didn’t say anything for a little while, until suddenly a question tumbled out of her mouth.

“Did you really come to help that Vigilant you mentioned? Or is it to do with the Volkihar?” She had almost forgotten that name again, though as she spoke it, she had a flash of memory of herself writing it carefully in her journal in Jarl Idgrod’s bedchamber.

“A Priest of Auri-El does not lie, child.” She was a little taken aback by his tone.

“I didn’t mean… I only meant, was that the real reason?” She found herself struggling to recall precisely what she was even asking. The name was… familiar, yet so strange. She thought she had seen it in a book she had picked up in some bandit lair or another – they did seem to like their tales of terror. And that one about the Argonian Maid… But no, that wasn’t it. She shook her head, made herself pay attention to Äelberon’s words.

“Brother Tyranus requested my help. I came. I… did what I could to help him.” His face clouded further, but it seemed he was not yet ready to elaborate on what had happened in Markarth. “But no, it was not the _only_ reason, if that is what you meant to ask.”

He stood, much more nimble than the last time she had seen him, but still wincing a little with the movement. “Your message after the Symposium was a great help, in more ways than you could know. I have spent a long, long time looking for Vingalmo. I confess, I was sorely tempted to head straight for Skyrim, the fire of vengeance burning in my heart, and so on, and so forth.” 

He waved a hand, apparently wishing to give the impression that he was being dramatic for humorous effect, although from what little she had managed to uncover in her research, she felt he was likely understating things. She knew the Grand Justiciar had signed the order for the Purge of Dusk, Äelberon’s home. That would surely be reason enough for his vendetta, and yet she sensed there were worse horrors to be revealed.

“However, I was… persuaded that perhaps I should be a little more circumspect, and so I bided my time. I did what research I could from Bruma. Asked the locals if they had any ‘good stories’ of the vampire clans of Skyrim, bartered with members of the local Mages Guild to copy out relevant passages from certain books in the Library at the Imperial City... In truth, I was obsessed. Before the Symposium as well, but even more so afterwards, having that name. I wonder… are there libraries in the other cities? I did not have a chance to look around Markarth. In sixteen years, I must confess I learned frustratingly little, it seems the Clan Volkihar have been alluded to occasionally, but never with much detail as to where to find them, beyond some fanciful descriptions of dwelling under the ice floes in the very north of the province, which as far as I can tell are either allegorical, or greatly exaggerated. It may well be that the north is the place to look, however…”

As he spoke, memories of the Symposium fluttered around the edges of her mind, just outside her grasp – herself casting Fire Bolts? That couldn’t be right; she had only learned that spell in Skyrim! The word _de-activated_ floated through her mind with that thought. At last, one memory floated within reach, close enough to remember, vivid as though it were yesterday.

_The Grand Justiciar waved his hand slowly in dismissal. “Kindness, Justiciar, has nothing to do with it. This was a difficult event to plan and carry out. The repercussions of which will be felt in Alinor for quite some time. The subject of vampires is one I hold close to my own heart and there has been a plethora of new information in the one hundred years since our last Symposium. I even compiled some of the notes myself.”_

_“Yes, the information on the new Skyrim clan, Volkihar, is it?” Ondolemar recalled with what she saw as rather feigned enthusiasm. “Brilliant research. Your time in Skyrim, Grand Justiciar, has been invaluable. Especially around such difficult circumstances. Those Nords…”_

_The Golden Lord of Caemal laughed and it was echoed by the rest of the lobby, except herself. Why she felt hurt just then, she didn’t know, but she quickly covered herself when she caught Ondolemar’s stare and laughed herself, adjusting her slipping hood again. As soon as she was in the cloakroom, she was going to tear the damn thing off. She wondered how the Old Guard tolerated his helmet. It looked bloody uncomfortable to her._

And one more. Herself, speaking with _Queen Calianwe of Cloudrest!_ Urging her to make sure Äelberon had understood the message. _“Just in case tell him again, Volkihar. Tell him Volkihar. That they are… in Skyrim.”_

Her head was starting to hurt again. She wanted to ask more questions, ask why this “Clan Volkihar” was so important, what it had to do with the former Grand Justiciar, but she was struggling to focus. Äelberon had gone quiet again, and she felt his eyes on her, had that feeling he was considering how to proceed.

He spoke quietly, now. Barely above a whisper. “You do not need to know all the details, Nordling, not yet. But to answer the question I am sure is at the forefront of your mind, Vingalmo, formerly Grand Justiciar Vingalmo – I believe he has taken at least nominal retirement in recent years? – is a member of Clan Volkihar. That is the simple truth of it, the connection. I will explain more when you are recovered, and perhaps we shall discuss the other matter further as well, but for now, you should get some rest.”


	89. Chapter 89

The next thing she knew, it was the next morning. She vaguely remembered waking a few times, but not for long. Kaidan had woken her as gently as he could, and after checking that she was feeling at least a little better, left her with a wash basin and cloth. After taking a few minutes to wash, and allow her head to clear – it always took a little while when she woke after one of those episodes – she climbed the stairs to the kitchen, where she could smell breakfast was on its way. She heard Lydia and Lucien telling Kaidan about some excitement the day before – it seemed Äelberon had unwittingly gained a number of admirers among the young women of the village. 

Reaching the top of the steps, she caught sight of a faint blush colouring the Pale Elf’s scarred cheeks. He was looking very determinedly at a book – _Purloined Shadows_ , had he mentioned that the day before? - and clearly trying to give the impression he was unaware of their conversation. She thought she caught a flicker of sadness in his eyes, though, and wondered at that.

Still, he was certainly looking more robust than when she had left Rorikstead, and she could see why Nord women would appreciate him more than most of her own kind – even after his recent ordeal, he was strong, charming, and while his looks were considered grotesque by Altmeri standards, with his eyes closed or shaded by a hood, he could pass for an unusually handsome Nord in his early fifties or so, and even his scars would lend an appeal – the Nords valued a battle-worn face. As both Altmer and Priest, he doubtless smelled better than any Nord, as well.

“Don’t pay her no mind, Brother Äelberon,” Lydia’s Ma had clearly put some effort into learning the correct pronunciation of his name. “She’s just jealous because none of them pay her as much attention! P’rhaps if she learned some of your nice manners, and took such good care of her hair...”

Lydia rolled her eyes at her mother. “Not interested in any Rorikstead girls, Ma.”

“Oh, that’s right, you’re sweet on that miner, aren’t you? Thane Nerussa, do you think you could arrange to have some business in Shor’s Stone some time soon, this one needs a gentle shove in the right direction sometimes.”

Nerussa nodded, pretending not to notice Kaidan’s wink at her, or the fact that Lucien definitely _had_ noticed, or the look that passed between him and Lydia. “Of course! It may not be for a week or two, but I’m sure that can be arranged.”

Just as he was about to ask Äelberon for a word, he closed his book, and looked over at her. “Runa here has asked us to take a walk up the hill to check on Lund. He would normally have been down to the farm to collect his overwinter provisions by now, but neither he nor his wife have been seen in some weeks, giving rise to some concerns… And I think some fresh air would do us both the world of good.”

***

“Are you very disappointed in me?”

The pause before he spoke was hard to bear, so she focused on the feel of the stones under her feet. The boots were comfortable, and she liked the way the thin soles let her distinguish between the cobbles of Whiterun, the flagstones and wooden walkways of Riften, and the other areas – sometimes when her mind was racing, it was good to have that to remind her where she was. Today, though, on the path up to Lund’s cottage, she was enjoying the boots a little less – the path was covered with small, irregular stones, and they were digging into her feet as she walked.

Äelberon cleared his throat. “Everyone has made some decisions they regret, and everyone has made some decisions they are unsure of, or that others might judge them for. Even I have made some grave, grave mistakes in my time.”

She looked at him, rather taken aback. His tone was serious, and she wondered what he could possibly be talking about. “Yes, Nordling, once, when I was a young Mer, I made a terrible error of judgement. I was new to Alinor, beginning my period of instruction. I did not understand the area as well as I thought. I was young, and thought I knew everything, as the young so often do. I took it upon myself to visit the coast just outside the city, and when I saw the water, I succumbed to the urge to go for a swim.” He looked across at her, the barest suggestion of a twinkle now forming in his eye.

“But… the sea by Alinor is filled with..!”

“Yes, Nordling! The most vicious piranhas on Nirn. I was fortunate, and escaped with merely a few dozen bites on my backside. It seems your Senna was not the only one to approve of that part of me!”

Nerussa’s hands flew to cover her mouth, but it was no use, the laughter burst out of her and she almost bent double with the force of it. When she had recovered, they continued up the path.

“What was your reasoning?” He sounded curious more than anything.

“Mercer Frey tried to kill me – as far as he knew, he succeeded. And he betrayed the Guild. He murdered a friend, and put the blame on another. He stole from them… I… recognise the irony in that, but the Guild have been good to me, Brynjolf and Delvin in particular. They believed in me, not because of this dragon business, or anything like that. They… they thought I was good at something. And so I was angry, and I wanted to make Mercer pay. And, well. If he gets away… Who knows where he might end up.”

“Did she give you anything?”

“Some armour. A blessing, Karliah said, although the details were rather vague. Essentially, better luck, from what I’ve gathered. Tomorrow night, I need to intercept his ‘last heist’, and it sounds like I will need luck on my side for that.”

“I see. By my understanding, Nordling, Nocturnal does not require worship or devotion in the same way as some other Daedra. She expects respect from her followers, but it is more of a… transaction, as far as is known. In life, she bestows certain abilities, in death she expects payment in the form of service in her realm of Oblivion. It may be that, as Dovahkiin, your soul is not so easily traded – it was bestowed by Auri-El Himself, or Akatosh in the Nord belief, and on death it might be assumed to return to Him. It may alternatively be the case that it is… something of a prize for any Daedra who manages to claim it. I suppose the first question to consider is, do you wish to serve Nocturnal in perpetuity after your death? The details of the arrangement are, forgive me, obscure, but it is likely to be a lonely eternity. No friends, no family. No Kaidan...”

She wished she’d put her hood on, she could feel the blush rising. Xarxes' arse, was it so obvious? She hoped it was merely Äelberon's perceptiveness... “I am no fan of loneliness, I have… I was often lonely. Before Skyrim. I have rarely felt that way, here. I don’t relish the thought of it, no. And yet… it is as you said. I feel… drawn? I do not know.”

She glanced sidelong at Äelberon. He was watching her carefully, and she took a breath.

“My sentences? They do get short, don’t they. Perhaps we could stand here for a moment, I will… gather my thoughts.”

He nodded, and they paused their climb, turning to look over the village and the view beyond it. In the distance, she heard a bird, not a songbird, perhaps a crow. She felt the stones under her feet, tasted the traces of the bread and honey she had eaten for breakfast, and smelled… something sour. She couldn’t quite place it, coming from the direction they had been walking… She counted her breaths.

“How did you know? Last night… You have met others like me?”

“Oh, Youngling, I have met many like you. Mainly among our people, but in Cyrod and further afield, as well. In the Isles, before I was… when I lived there, it was difficult, but not impossible for people like you to blend in. Difference was punished, of course, but less severely than, I suspect, in your childhood. But a number of parents brought their children to me, and I did what I could. Not to ‘heal’ them, they were not sick. Just to help them learn to cope with their senses, and to understand how they were expected to behave. In Bruma, there were several families with members with the same patterns, they tended to find quiet, methodical jobs, and it was just how they were. With less pressure to fit in, they were less worn down, and better able to cope with their challenges, which in turn meant they were able to use their strengths more readily. Now, perhaps we should continue and check on Lund, and we can return to our earlier discussion afterwards?”

Nerussa agreed, and they walked on.

***

It wasn’t that Lucien didn’t appreciate Lydia training him. He had picked up some bad habits, he rather thought, and she was nothing if not strict on those. It had also been, well, something to do, while Nerussa and Kaidan were gone, other than attempting to hunt with Äelberon.

As usual, Lydia insisted on talking while they trained. 

“So, this Äelberon. He some kind of hero?”

“You could say that. He’s sort of… _the_ hero, to his people. Or, well, he was. His story isn’t widely known in Cyrodiil, but he was mentioned in a few places in my studies. You know I studied at the Arcane University?”

She snorted “yeah, you may have mentioned it...”

“Touché… In both senses. Ow!” 

As they continued sparring, he told her what he could remember of the epic poem he had found in an old manuscript collection, while looking for something else entirely. The verse had been fascinatingly different in style to Cyrodiilic poetry, and he had ended up reading the entire thing in one sitting.

The poem had told of the Pale Elf’s youth in Dusk – Äelberon had explained that this was a change from the later, official version of the tale, which had portrayed him as noble by birth –and his recruitment as a Knight of the Crystal Tower. The events of the Oblivion Crisis were central to the story – the Pale Elf, now a Knight-Paladin of Auri-El, slaying the great and terrible Bet, the Beast of Coldharbour, atop a mountain of fallen Daedra at the height of the Oblivion Crisis, defending the great Tower of Crystal-like-Law against more Daedra – this time the creatures of Mehrunes Dagon, using their own terrible machinery against them… The fall of the Tower, held at bay long enough that the Oblivion Crisis was ended by Martin Septim in the Temple of the One in Cyrodiil – this was likely an edit for Imperial audiences, the official version of course followed the Thalmor’s version of events which did not acknowledge Septim’s mantling of Akatosh or any non-Altmer involvement in the saving of Tamriel. 

Äelberon had told him a little more, about his time in exile, but Lucien did not feel it was appropriate to share much of that. He did tell her, though, with shy pride in his face, that Äelberon had finally realised why Lucien looked familiar.

“People always do say I’ve got my mother’s eyes!”


	90. Chapter 90

Nerussa was about to try again to bring up the sload in the room, when Äelberon put his hand in her path, and indicated that she should be cautious. She slowed her steps, moved closer to the cliff face, and listened out. She thought she might be at least a little stealthier than him, but gods, maybe she should ask him for some advice on paying more attention to her surroundings. She heard it now, a quiet scritching, scrabbling sound, occasionally joined by the peculiar almost purr-like sound of skeevers. They crept forward, the path opening out to a small garden, recently neglected by the looks of it.

There was what looked to be a vegetable patch which had been harvested – that would have been, what, a couple of months earlier? The farms’ harvest had been in Last Seed, but most people kept their own vegetable patches, which usually provided at least a little fresh food until late Hearthfire, maybe even early Frostfall. But, as Äelberon pointed out, there were fallen leaves everywhere, not raked up into piles which would rot down over the winter, providing compost for the following spring’s vegetable patch. That was clearly unusual, food grew more readily in Rorikstead than many parts of Skyrim, but the people were no less careful to make the best use of their resources.

The skeevers hadn’t noticed them, yet. Three of them. Äelberon motioned to her to be still, and drew his bow, silently felling each skeever in turn.

“I am afraid that Lund may not be awaiting us with a fresh pot of tea, Nordling.” His voice was tinged with sadness, though no real surprise. They gingerly pushed open the door, and another couple of skeevers – and a whiff of decay – emerged. The skeevers were far thinner than most she had seen before, and even more unhealthy, if such a thing were possible. They had, by the look of the place, been trapped in the single-room cottage for some time, and they showed no interest in the Altmer as they rushed outside. The Priest of Auri-El bowed his head and crossed the threshold, crossing quickly to the small bed where, it seemed, Lund had taken his life, a green vial lying on the floor under his hand which hung, limply, off the side of the bed.

“I’d have thought the skeevers would have...” Nerussa’s voice trailed off.

“Skeevers are not intelligent, as such, but they are usually the descendants of ancestors who chose not to eat poisoned food, Nordling. And perhaps they had some affection for the man. Look by the hearth.”

Nerussa turned, wondering how the Mer had taken in such a small detail when he had seemed entirely focused on reaching the bed, and saw three small wooden dishes by the hearth, just a few crumbs remaining, but seemingly put out to feed the animals. The door was badly scratched, a box of the kind often used to store vegetables brought up from the outside root cellar had been gnawed through and emptied, and even a thin linen jacket left on the floor had been chewed up by the desperate rodents, but Lund’s body was undisturbed. She definitely needed to ask him for some tips, but now was probably not the moment. Still, she knew enough to open the door again, to let the air clear a little, and to look around for some soap, a cleanish rag, and a jug to fill with water from the brook outside. Perhaps they could speak further on the way back to the farm.

***  
 **5th Evening Star**

I have so much to record, but I’m writing this on a carriage, so most of that will have to wait. I have told Äelberon about the Oath I took. I’m not entirely sure how it went – he was, well, less angry than I was expecting, which threw me a little. And he knew Senna! He was the priest she sometimes spoke of! Unlike her not to drop a name, but of course his is a heavy name in ~~Alin~~ the Isles. But yes, less angry than I thought he would be – he even made jokes! He seemed worried, though. Which I can understand. Karliah has hinted that, once Frey has been dealt with, we will have to journey to the Twilight Sepulchre. I have not told him of that, yet. Perhaps I have misunderstood her. I will have no choice but to go, however, and I don’t really want to be warned about it. I’m already terrified, truth be told. I get the nastiest feeling that Nocturnal may actually be capable of manifesting in that space.

Perhaps it’s time for a list? They are, after all, Calming and Good For Focus. When we arrive in Solitude, I shall have to buy a new journal, this one is very close to full, what with lists, plans, and all of this waffle.

* Advantage of ridiculous tight armour is I can fit a dress over it without much discomfort, so I won’t need to change, simply slip the dress off when the time comes  
* Mercer Frey’s plans suggested he expects the Eyes to be transferred to a ship which is due to set sail in the late evening.  
* I have no idea where the ‘hidden vault’ is, Brynjolf and Karliah are supposed to be tracking it down and meeting me in Solitude  
* Kaidan is very handsome, but he probably should stop trying to read this over my shoulder if he knows what’s good for him  
* I really hope this ‘plan’ of mine works

***

Kaidan closed the door to the Gallery apartment, and ran a hand through his hair, untying it when he reached the lacing. It had been a real struggle not to argue with Nerussa about her plan for the night - ‘let her luck guide her,’ indeed - but he knew better, by now. He just had to try and trust that things would work out. The apartment was lavishly furnished, which did not help his mood. The place was echoey, both too loud, and far too quiet.

He leafed irritably through the pile of books by the fireside, but they were all dry histories of the kind that Lucien inexplicably enjoyed. The kind that were full of ‘verilies’ and ‘forsooths’ and stupid old-fashioned names that weren’t interesting enough to try and keep straight. 

The kitchen was no better, he wasn’t really hungry, but he decided he ought to eat something, if only to keep himself occupied. Unfortunately, he managed to burn the meat, while the potatoes and vegetables were barely cooked. He scraped the wasted food into the scrap barrel, and swore loudly as half of it fell on the floor.

He gave up trying to distract himself, and went to the room that had been set up for himself and Lucien to share, and lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, and offered up a quiet prayer to any Divine who might listen to a man like himself, for her safe return.

***

Brynjolf and Karliah were waiting for her on the ramparts of the city. She was disappointed, though not surprised, to hear that they had been unable to track down the vault mentioned in Mercer’s plans. Drawing a breath, she explained her plan, to a mix of amazement, disbelief, and admiration from the others.

“That’s either the most genius thing I’ve ever heard, lass, or the foolhardiest.”

“I think it’s probably both, but what do we have to lose?”

Karliah nodded, slowly, a determined look in her eyes. “I think you’re right, Nerussa. Mercer is exactly paranoid enough to have left false clues in his own plans. Just as well we didn’t find any better leads on the location, I suppose… Very well, is there anything we can do to help, or would we be better as lookouts at the dock?” 

“The latter, I think. Shadow hide you…” Where had _that_ come from? 

She slipped away, straightening the sleeves of the dark blue dress she wore over her armour. The apron and pouches helped her to blend in to the Fredas evening hubbub in the city, where various merchants were finishing the week’s work, and counting up their takings. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, opened her eyes again and started walking toward the first person she saw.

As she drew closer, she recognised the rather sweet Breton alchemist she had met all those months ago, her first time in Solitude. Angelique, was it? No, Angeline. Even back then, she had been touched, and saddened, by the woman’s story, and, having had a little time to kill before she left for Darkwater Crossing, had persuaded one of the Legion captains to do the right thing and let her tell the woman what they knew of her daughter’s fate.

“Mrs Morrard, how have you been?”

The Breton woman looked up at her, face blank for a moment, then breaking into a soft, sad smile as she recognised Nerussa.

“Why, it’s… Oh, dear, I’m afraid I can’t remember your name!”

“I’m not sure I ever gave it to you, so the blame is all mine - it’s Nerussa. Do you have a moment?”


	91. Chapter 91

“So, you’re certain she’s the one?”

“Aye, lass. I’m no leader, and nor are Delvin and Vex. We can handle the day-to-day while she’s off doing her other work, but she can be the figurehead, and make the tough calls, when it comes to it. She’s been in Skyrim, what, less than half a year, and she’s gone from a bedraggled mess to, well, you’ve seen what she is now. We’d be fools not to at least ask her.”

Karliah nodded, and they lapsed into silence as they reached the walkway down to the docks, linking arms and winking at a passing guard.

***

After a few pleasantries, Angeline sighed, and looked nervously at the ramp to the upper level of the city, outside Castle Dour. 

“Is something wrong, Mrs Morrard?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear, it’s just I have a delivery to make, and I’m not looking forward to the climb. It used to feel like nothing, that ramp, but these past few years, well…” 

“I’d be happy to help, you know?”

“Oh, you are a good girl. I hope you don’t think I was hinting!” Nerussa shook her head, smiling, and held her hand out for the package. She headed up the ramp, and into the Golden Hen restaurant. As she handed over the package, her stomach growled, and she looked at the small selection of small cakes on offer.

“I can’t decide, would you pick something out for me?” Taking the delicate box from the woman behind the counter, she fumbled slightly, her coin purse spilling several silver pieces onto the counter, which the woman hastily gathered up and handed to her.

“You see this coin? You should take that to the Golden Crossroads, on the side street just past the Castle. Reckon they’ll buy it off you for a few bob.”

Nerussa grinned, and walked out of the restaurant. As she approached the coin trader, she noticed a crowd of merchants outside the large, heavily guarded building next door. Joining the crowd, she smoothed down her apron, and made polite conversation with someone she vaguely recognised from the market. It seemed they were all waiting to enter the Solitude Treasury House to bank their weekly takings, and Nerussa smiled as blandly as she could.

A few minutes later, the doors were opened, and the crowd hurried forward, bringing Nerussa along with them. Inside, she drifted to the edge of the crowd, who were all absorbed in trying to be the first to be served, and quietly cast Invisibility.

A few steps away, she came to a staircase, leading up and down. No, not this one, it didn’t feel right. Carrying on, she found what she was certain was the right staircase, and slipped down to the basement. She crept to a dark corner and removed her dress, bundling it in the first of two belt satchels she had strapped to her hips, and withdrawing the hood and mask. The black armour would help her blend into the shadows if she forgot to maintain the spell, although she had a good feeling that wasn’t too likely to happen.

Before she turned invisible once more, she flipped a coin. Tails. She took the left passage, and found herself in a rather sparse office, the only decorative touch being a dark wooden figurine, depicting a raven. The bird was apparently being used as a paperweight, a sheet of paper poking out from underneath it. Someone called Seguri Puruseius, informing an unspecified recipient that the key to the master safe would now be on his person at all times. How helpful of him.

Following her feet, she found herself by a plain, wooden door, left ajar by some careless individual. Just enough that she could nudge it open without losing concentration on her Invisibility, and slip into the gloom. 

_laas_. The Word she had learned on Northwind Summit. She had tested it out on her way back to Honeyside from Nightingale Hall. Taking a moment to stand on the dock, she had whispered, rather than Shouted it. _laas_. for a moment all seemed dark, and for another moment she had thought it had done nothing. Then, she started to see dots of glowing red, out on the lake. Each one a fish. Turning, she had seen one of Maven’s thugs, standing with his arms folded, leaning against the wall of the warehouse, and he was glowing red, as well. Looking towards Honeyside, she could even make out faint red glowing shapes through the city walls, and Kaidan pacing on the dock, waiting for her. She didn’t know how long it had lasted, maybe only a count of ten, but it had been beautiful.

What she saw this time was… a little less awe-inspiring. A well-dressed Imperial in his mid-fifties, slumped in the corner, surrounded in the same cloudy red glow, as well as the stench of cheap brandy. She inched closer, grimaced, and slid her hand carefully into the pouch at the man’s belt. The smell of his breath was almost unbearable, but her fingers closed on the key, and he was able to back out of the room, casting Invisibility once more. 

After that, it was a simple job to find the safe, where, sure enough, a box containing the Eyes of the Falmer sat. She swiftly checked the contents, and pulled out the scroll Auryen had given her for the occasion. After all, two such priceless historical artefacts could hardly be pawned on the black market, now, could they?

That only left the matter of Mercer. She was a little surprised that there had been no sight of him, come to think of it. Strolling back into the little office, she saw another note under the raven. She was almost sure it hadn’t been there before, but perhaps it had simply escaped her notice. “Keep the roof hatch locked, you bunch of taffers.” Well, that was worth investigating…

***

Mercer Frey grinned as he snuck across the rooftop, approaching the Treasury House. He was quite confident his inside man would have left the hatch unlocked, not that Frey needed it. Still, it was touching that the simpleton thought he was helping. 

Those fools were likely tearing around the countryside even now, looking for the hidden vault he’d made sure to mention in the papers he had left for them. Ah, here he was, just approaching the plank he would use to access the hatch.

Gone? Well, that was frustrating. He looked over at the roof of the Treasury House, to assess the distance. He was confident enough he could jump it, but as he prepared himself, a shape stepped from the shadows.

“Hello, Mercer.”

 _Her?_ He had slit that haughty bitch’s throat! She stood, silhouetted against the aurora forming in the sky.

“What in blazes are you doing here?” Gods, it sounded such a cliché as it came out of his mouth. He felt the Key in his pocket, reassuring in its uncanny weight.

“I should have thought that was obvious, Mercer. I’m completing the heist of the century. Actually, it was a bit too easy for that. Maybe the heist of the month. This was your big moment, was it?”

He spluttered, the anger rising. "When Brynjolf brought you before me I could feel a sudden shift in the wind. And at that moment, I knew it would end with one of us at the end of a blade. Although I rather thought I had taken care of that, already. No matter, it can easily be repeated, you barely fought in Snow Veil, I can’t imagine you’re much of a threat."

“Oh, Mercer. Don’t you see? If anyone falls tonight, it will be you.”

"Then the die is cast, and once again my blade will taste Nightingale blood!" He grimaced, and took a few paces backward, preparing for a decent run-up to the leap. 

The sillhouetted shape simply stood and watched, not even drawing a blade. Pathetic. His feet flew over the roof tiles, and he leapt, high over the back alleys of Solitude. 

He felt a voice, echoing deep within his mind. _“Ah, Mercer. Your time has come to serve, an eternity of regret awaits you, in My domain.”_

The Treasury House roof suddenly felt so much further away, and his limbs began to flail. He almost made it to the other side, even so, but it seemed his luck had run out.


	92. Chapter 92

Nerussa edged along the city wall, trying not to think of Mercer Frey’s crumpled form, of reaching into his pocket for the Key. It weighed down the satchel on her left hip, more than the dress in the other did. She slipped through an empty turret and emerged onto the stretch of the ramparts close to the terrace outside the Gallery apartment. She could see flickering light through the coloured glass, and hoped Kaidan was still awake. The terrace was at chest height, a narrow gap between it and where she stood. 

Reaching into the satchel on the right, she pulled out one sleeve of the merchant-styled dress, and dried her hands, tucking the sleeve away and resting one briefly on her armoured chest where Kaidan’s luck talisman lay, tucked safely inside. Taking a deep breath, she wrapped her hands around two of the rails around the terrace, and relaxed into the motion, thinking back to Senna’s lessons in her childhood. Bracing one foot on the wall, she pushed off with the other. Before she quite knew it, she was standing on the terrace, brushing herself down. 

Slipping the mask into a satchel, she lowered the hood and crossed the terrace, quietly opening the door. Kaidan was sitting on the floor, his forearm resting on one knee, staring into the fire. His shoulders seemed stiffer than when she would find him sitting by the campfire on the nights where she woke without prompting for her watch, and as she watched, she saw his other foot was tapping on the floor.

When she sat beside him, he started a little, but visibly relaxed when he turned and saw her.

“Hey, you. Got back in one piece, then?”

“Of course. We don’t need to worry about where Mercer Frey will end up, now.” He smiled over at her, relief washing over his face.

She took a breath. “Kaidan, can we talk? About… the other night.”

The firelight reflected in his eyes as he spoke. “That night still on your mind? I won’t be forgetting it, any time soon…”

She smiled, but pressed on with the questions she had planned to ask. “What did it mean to you?”

He leaned back on his hands, hair swinging back in a familiar motion, and gazed at her, steadily, a little wariness creeping into his gaze. “That feels like a pretty loaded question. I don’t bed every companion I travel with, if that’s what you were wondering?”

“No, I… that’s not quite what I meant. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply…” He shushed her.

“Never mind it.” He paused, eyes intent on hers before he continued. “I just… I wanted you. I’ve felt… close to you, but it wasn’t ever enough. I wanted… More. Why? What are you thinking?”

She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. “Was that all you wanted?”

He snorted. “You actually think that? What did that Ondolemar do to your head, eh? Listen, Nerussa. If all I wanted was… a belly warmer, I’d be in a tavern somewhere, not following you into Dragon lairs and bandit camps, and gods know where else you’re gonna think of next.” He gently put his hand on her chin, raising her face toward his, allowing her to see his expression without demanding she meet his eyes before she was ready. Her heart thudded in her chest. “You’re… more than that to me. Thought you knew.”

“Oh.” Her voice sounded so small. He smiled, and her eyes flickered up to his for a heartbeat.

“Look, it was just… it was easier to… Well, I’d say ‘make a pass at you’, but I think you sort of beat me to it in the end. But it was easier than trying to tell you I…" He looked away. "Ah, c’mon. When have I ever been good at talking about this stuff?” 

He was scowling slightly at himself, and it was her turn to snort. “You’re better at it than me! Mooning over you for weeks, but too scared to even hope…” She turned her eyes to the fire. “Well, you know.” His expression softened.

“I’ll keep that in mind, then. The real question is, are you okay with… with everything?”

“Can I ask you something else first?” He shifted, nodding. “You said, well… I got the impression maybe it wasn’t… totally new to you, either?” He nodded again, and she met his gaze. “Why didn’t anything… happen sooner? I am quite sure you could read it all in my face...”

“Because, I wanted the lips I kissed to be the ones I saw when I looked up in that cell, and saw you, and I was willing to wait. And I didn’t want you to… Well. You made it pretty obvious you’ve been told your whole life that you’d... look better, _be_ better, if you looked more like… Like you did for a while. I didn’t want to… I dunno. Reinforce that? I still wanted you, of course. I’d want _you_ whatever you looked like. But…” He trailed off, seemingly having run out of words.

The small smile on her face had grown as he spoke, and she would never have known how much she needed to hear those words, faltering as they were. She looked into his eyes, deep red, and feeling like home.

“One more question, if that’s all right.” He rolled his eyes, but the smile still reached them, so she carried on. “Is this… What happened in the clearing… Going to happen again?”

His hand was still on her face, and he ran his thumb across her cheekbone, smiling softly. “I think it’d be a crime against Dibella if it didn’t… You make the blood burn in my veins. Is it something you want to happen again, then?”

She gave a tiny nod before answering. “I’d like to be sensible, take things slowly, but… Gods. Yes, Kaidan. It is.”

He smiled, and got to his feet, offering her his hand. “I always swore to protect you, Dragonborn, and that includes from me. I won’t push you into anything you’re not ready for, physical or otherwise. Come on, let’s see if you really do prefer a comfortable bed, to a sweaty bedroll, then.”


	93. Chapter 93

Lydia opened the gate, guiding the reluctant dogs, and Äelberon, into the farm.

“Now, youngling, I may still be recovering from Rulindil’s hospitality, but I am no doddering old grandfather. I think I can manage to find my way through a gate!” His tone was chiding, but playful. As the dogs barked cheerfully, leading Äelberon toward their food bowls, the farm door opened, and Lucien poked his head out. 

“Ah, Lydia! I was wondering if I might ask a favour? I know you have today off, but I was hoping I could convince you to help me with something. I am, of course, willing to pay well!"

Lydia looked the Imperial up and down. "What did you have in mind, Lucien?"

"Well, on her last visit, Danica very kindly reminded me that I had undertaken - soon after my first arrival in Whiterun - to obtain a certain… Item for her, in the hopes of restoring the Gildergreen in that fair city. She also reminded me that it has been, well… Some time since that promise. I was hoping you would accompany me to Orphan Rock, near Helgen. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

She blinked, looked over to where Äelberon was being thoroughly appreciated by all the dogs, and was relieved to see he did not appear to have overheard. She grabbed a protesting Lucien by the sleeve, and dragged him out of the gate, shutting it behind her, and up the hillside.

“Are you serious? You know what’s _at_ Orphan Rock, right? It’s a den of…” Lucien broke in.

"Yes, witches and a Hagraven, I am quite aware of that. Why do you think we didn't head straight there in the first place? I have several decently strong potions that will help us both resist their magicks… Oh, please say we can go, I feel so guilty for leaving it so long!” He looked up at her, his eyes reminding her of Koor when he was back in Markarth.

“Fine, fine. Tell you what, I’m pretty sure you won our last bet, what do you say we call it even?”

“Oh, Lydia, that’s extremely kind of you. The bet wasn’t for that much, though, I’m sure I should offer you more!” She shook her head, and he scrunched up his face a little, but nodded. “Thank you. I’m hopeful we can bring life back to that wonderful old tree, and it will make any struggle worthwhile, don’t you agree?”

“Aye, just… let’s not let Brother Äelberon know where we’re going. He’s obviously used to being strong and useful, and not happy about not quite being back to his usual self, yet. I don’t want him to try and come along. We’ll say we’re going to Falkreath to pick up something you left in the tavern when you got here.” 

“I’m not sure we should lie to him, Lydia. I’m also… not sure either of us is good enough at lying to fool him.”

Lydia wasn’t convinced, but Lucien had already begun to cross the yard.

“Äelberon, Danica asked me to retrieve something from a Hagraven’s den in Falkreath. Lydia and I are going, and we… Well, we thought perhaps you should know.”

Äelberon looked closely at them both. Lydia had an awful feeling he could tell what she had said earlier.

“I realise you look at me and see a frail Old Mary. I am older than your parents. I am likely older than this farm. But I am also a warrior. This life is all I know. I have, however, been asked not to stray beyond the local area, so you may go off without me.”

***

Over breakfast, Kaidan cleared his throat. “No nightmares, then?” 

She smiled. “I think they were because Äelberon was in distress, so close by. But I’ll admit, I was nervous, spending my first night here since the party…” He nodded, and took a bite of bread, still warm from the baker’s delivery. 

“Well, I’m glad to hear it.” They ate in comfortable silence for a while, before Kaidan spoke again. “You know… There’s a place not far from here I used to venture to when I was a lad.” His eyes were far away as he spoke, a small smile on his lips. “Think it was a springtime, just before we skipped out to High Rock. Wonder if I could find it again…”

“Somewhere special, was it?”

He chuckled, shaking his head a little. “I dunno, it was probably a lot more impressive to a child’s mind than it would be now… Always remembered it being a haven, though. If I could manage not to disturb the Spriggans, at least!” 

She pushed a stray lock of hair behind his ear, and kissed him softly. “We could have a look, if you remember where it was?” 

“I think I’d like that. I’ve a rough idea of the route, though we didn’t exactly stay in Solitude…”

***

“Lydia! I think this may have been a bad idea!” Lucien scrambled toward the injured, scowling Nord, charging his healing spell. She emptied her waterskin over her ripped leg, swearing at the sting.

“Really, Lucien?”

“I’m sorry - I’m sure we can still do it, though. We’ve dealt with the witches, we just need to recover before we approach the Hagraven’s nest…” He focused his magicka into the wound on her leg, remembering Danica’s advice at the Shrine of Akatosh, trying not to remember Äelberon’s cutting tone earlier that day - Lydia had apparently not noticed. “Can you hold the wound closed? It will help it to heal correctly.”

He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift outwards, feeling rather silly, but reminding himself that he was first and foremost a scientist, and that the results Danica had shown him had been undeniable. He was glad Lydia could not read his mind - although he did crack open one eye to check there were no tell-tale signs in her expression - as he asked the nearby plants to assist in his efforts. The Pine Forest of Falkreath was certainly a good place to try this - most of the trees elsewhere in the province were losing their leaves, or standing bare - and he felt his spell strengthening as his request was granted. 

This left the second part of Danica’s advice. He sifted through his memories of Lydia. Cringing a little at the earliest ones - he had not been as welcoming as he could have been to the newly appointed Housecarl - he focused on more recent ones. Their training sessions, and the firm, but not unkind way she corrected his posture, reminding him just a little of his mother. The jokes they had shared as they waited for Nerussa and Kaidan to stop ‘standing in their own way’, as she put it. The way she had gone from brash, confident warrior to blushing, flustered mess when Sylgja had introduced herself at Shor’s Stone. “The better you know someone, the better you can heal them. Focus on your connection, and you will be astonished how much easier it is.”

As he looked down at his hands, the wound began to close, the flesh knitting itself together more quickly and completely than he had healed even far less serious wounds before. “I didn’t have you figured for a priest, Lucien…”

“Danica is a _marvellous_ teacher, but that life is not for me!” As the spell completed, they saw Lydia’s leg was almost entirely unmarked, the faintest silver line being the only remnant of the gash left by the witch’s dagger.

“Ready to take on the Hagraven, then, Lucien?” 

“Not at all. Let’s go!”

***

The cave mouth faced west, so the initial passage was almost pitch black, but as they stumbled into the immense cavern, Nerussa could see holes in the roof, letting in the winter sun. 

“I… might have been wrong about it looking less impressive, now? I think the locals called this place Shadowgreen Cavern.”

The place was… absurdly pretty. Somehow, in spite of the weak light and the season, it was full of lush plant life, from flowers and trees to nettles and thick grass. The centre of the space was dominated by a tall rock, topped by a large pine. In the gloom, she could just make out a path that looked to be leading around the side of the rock, and what looked like the end of the same path at the top. As they approached the path, Nerussa heard Kaidan’s footsteps slow, and stop. Looking around, she saw he had picked up a narrow branch, still covered in red and gold leaves, and was looking softly at it. As she watched, he twisted it into a circle, and lifted it onto her head, tucking it carefully into her hair. She looked at him, a question forming on her lips.

“Sorry, daft, I know, I just thought it’d look pretty…” He smiled shyly at her. “You look... like a fairy, or something. 

“I didn’t think you read fairy stories,” she said, leaning forward to kiss him gently.

“Never read any, but I know of the general concept. Come on, you don’t have to keep that thing on, let’s keep moving.”

They moved as quietly as possible, Kaidan muttering that he probably should have left his armour behind. Nerussa grinned over her shoulder at him, and moved on, trying to avoid brushing against any of the nettles with her bare knees. She had treated herself to a new outfit before leaving Solitude, a dark grey and white knee-length dress, with a violet and grey brocade jacket, which closed with a leather belt. It wasn’t remotely warm enough for the time of year, but she hadn’t been able to resist. As they moved through the cavern, Nerussa realised she was too warm in her fur cloak, and when they reached the top, she folded the cloak and left it with her pack on the floor, making sure not to disturb the wreath in her hair. 

The pine tree stood in the centre of a small patch of rich, brown soil, surrounded by a moat-like ring of water, crossed by a fallen branch of the tree. Carefully balancing on the branch, she approached the base of the tree, where she could just make out a pale, narrow shape. Kneeling down, she brushed away the pine needles laying on top of what she could now see was an old, wooden toy sword. Picking it up, she could just make out the name Kaidan, scratched carefully into the handle. He watched her crossing the branch once more, one hand holding the sword behind her back.

“I think you left something here…”

Taking the sword, he looked down at it, laughing softly. “Look at that - I remember losing this thing. I’d outgrown it anyway, so I got my first real sword not long after. Can’t believe you found this, and still in one piece. Might put this away back at home, in case… Well, thank you.”

She looked around, imagining a young, dark haired boy having made his way to this spot all alone, past Spriggans and bears, armed only with a toy sword. “This place is special to you, isn’t it?”

His lips curved softly, and he nodded. “Aye, I suppose it is. Hey, thanks for coming back here with me.”

“Thank you for bringing me, and for this.” She reached up and gently touched the wreath, taking his hand with her free one.


	94. Chapter 94

As Nerussa pushed open the gate to Alfgoll Farm, Vigilance ran over, demanding to be made a fuss of. She was surprised not to see Koor, she had gathered that Äelberon typically took both of their dogs out together, but perhaps he had wanted some time with just his ‘fat snowberry’. Inside the farmhouse, though, it was immediately obvious something was wrong. Lydia was nowhere to be seen, Runa was busying herself in the kitchen, shoulders slumped, and Lucien was sitting at the table, facing out toward the door, his always-expressive face filled with concern and… guilt? 

“What’s wrong, where’s Äelberon?” 

Lucien looked over to Runa, who glanced over her shoulder, eyes red.

“He’s… gone. Took Koor, some skins he’d been curing, and left last night. I’m so sorry, Nerussa…”

“What happened? Why would he..?”

“Lydia and I, we went to Falkreath yesterday, to fetch Nettlebane for Danica… I think we may have offended him before we left.”

Runa sniffled. “He didn’t say anything, your Thaneship, but I think he’d, well… He’s a proud Elf, isn’t he? I don’t think he liked feeling like he was… taking charity. The younglings, well, it was probably the last straw.”

“Oh. And you have no idea where he could have gone? Gods damn it, Äelberon. This is just like him.” She considered for a moment. “Well, in my admittedly brief experience of the Mer. But… Oh, gods, was he at least able to cast again, before he left?”

Lucien nodded, slightly. “Yes - not totally reliably, and I’m sure not as strongly as he would be able to under normal circumstances, but… I think he would at least be able to heal himself, now. He hadn’t had a relapse of the infection for a couple of days… I’m _so_ sorry, Nerussa. Lydia’s gone to try and find him, but…”

“He’s been evading far more determined pursuers for a long time, she won’t find him. I… He… Oh, gods, I hope he’s all right. I… I need some air. Please don’t follow me.”

She shoved open the door, called Vigilance, and slipped out of the gate with him, crossing the road and climbing the hillside. Cresting the hill, she found a small, dark metal shrine, depicting a serpent-bodied Dragon, coiled around an hourglass, its jaws closing around the point of a sword. Akatosh, then. Well, great. She sat facing it, and glared at the shrine. 

“You’re the one who did this to me, are you? Or was it Auri-El? It would help if there was any clarity on what the bloody difference is between the pair of you, you know.” She rubbed Vigilance’s ear, trying to focus on what she wanted to say. “Regardless, I didn’t come looking for either of you, but if you’re here… Please, look after that stubborn old Mer. Not that he needs it, I can’t imagine he would have left if he wasn’t fairly sure he was ready. Not unless there had been a direct threat to the family.”

She sighed, and looked at her hands. “Still. He deserves it.”

Her memories of the Symposium were still patchy, sometimes frustratingly so, sometimes it was a relief. But she thought now of one of the memories she had dealt with herself. One that she absolutely could not have afforded for the Processor to find.

 _She had been standing with her face pressed to the great crystal doors of the Lecture Hall, her breath leaving mist on the cool surface. He had instructed the guards to seal him inside with… them. The remaining Vampires. Ondolemar’s sneer came back to her, and the awful exchange between them, the one that finally severed any feeling she could have had for the Mer._ She was nearly distracted by a sudden realisation that he had likely felt more for her than she for him, but he had ruined it all with his devotion to Thalmor ideals, and spent a decade trying to mould her into something more… Acceptable. Less herself. 

She shook herself. That didn’t matter. Focus on the doors. The faceted, translucent crystal, _smooth and cool to the touch against her burning, tear-stained face. She had watched the flashes of light, more red than pale gold, as Lecturer Kelkemmelian’s kind hand rested on her shoulder, saying words she could not recall. He sought to provide hope, but she knew what he did not. Äelberon of Dusk, Knight of the Crystal Tower, Priest of Auri-El had been infected._

_Ondolemar had spoken again, and all she could recall was her disgust and impatience with the Mer, and the way he had slithered off to bow before the Grand Justiciar. The last lights of the unseen battle flickering out, pale gold, then red. Godsforsaken **red.**_

_The crowd had largely lost interest after that, gawking at the sudden arrival of Queen Calianwe, resplendent, radiant - literally, she had glowed with a powerful Healing Aura as she crossed the chamber. Her spun-gold hair -_ Nerussa incongruously thought of the way her own had been altered to a pale imitation of it _\- arranged and adorned in the height of fashion, fashion that was often set by the Queen herself. And amongst all the silken twists and decorative additions, a simple, single top-knot, tightly bound by a strip of leather, signifying her Priesthood, her Holy nature. Not intended as a display to others, simply a profound and constant part of her own Faith._

_As her old self had watched - fine, as she had gawked like the rest of them - the Queen of Cloudrest had approached Vingalmo, speaking to him in hushed tones._

_A shadow had passed over the door, bringing her attention back. Surely the Vampire which had finally taken his life could not have survived? But no, as she forced herself to stay calm, the Agent had realised… The figure on the other side of the crystal held up one hand, a white-gold light answering the useless red - Illusion, against a Vampire, Agent? - and illuminating his face just enough that she could make out the smirk on his face, his orange-red eyes burning under the hood. He lived! She made to open the door, to let him out, surely they would at least let him plead his case? But he raised his hand, shaking his head._

_She had mouthed a simple ‘why?’ through the glass, and was thankfully able to see clearly enough to read his answer - ‘I swore an oath.’ Then, to her immense frustration, ‘beyond help, child. Do not fret…’ She had motioned behind herself to the approaching Agents - higher ranking than her, Active Service, most of them. ‘There’s no escape! You’ll die!’_

_He had mouthed a simple ‘thank you…’ and began to turn away. In that moment, she had remembered. He needed to know, she didn’t know why, she only knew he did. Hoping her reaction would be put down to her ‘ailment’ causing an improper action after a stressful experience, she had banged on the door, causing him to turn back in surprise._

_He had understood her so far, but she could not risk him misinterpreting this word, unfamiliar to her, and most likely also to him. Within the memory, her old self thought back to bored childhood afternoons, on rare truly cold days, when she had amused herself by misting the windows of their home and writing on them. She had taught herself to write backwards, another trick she still sometimes used in her journal, because it amused her to surprise passers-by with little messages._

_Breathing hurriedly on the crystal, she had willed Äelberon not to turn back, but as she had begun the first letter, he understood._

_**Volkihar - the vam** \- it was as much as she had dared, she had heard Ondolemar approaching, and hurriedly wiped the crystal clear. She thought he had understood, though, and as she watched, his great, pale palm had met hers, just for a moment. ‘Go,’ she had mouthed. And he had._

In the present, Nerussa shivered, this was as much as she had allowed herself to focus on the memories since her time in Morthal. She had smirked as she told Ondolemar that the last light she had seen was red, and he had taken it exactly as she had hoped. A good little Thalmor lackey, amused by the demise of a great enemy. She had been barely holding herself together, knowing that there was nowhere for him to go.

And yet, he had not been there when the doors were opened. She had found some pretext to approach the Queen before she left, passed her the potion of cure disease, exchanged some words with her. She could only remember the last words she had spoken. _“Tell him that he is **not** beyond help. Tell him that **we** are not beyond hope. He’ll understand, maybe even smirk.”_

Nerussa sighed. Stubborn old Mer. She presumed the Queen had gone after him, given him the potion, the message. But she felt in her bones that, if she had not, he would have simply waited somewhere - she hoped it would have been somewhere beautiful - to die, to let the light of the Dawn claim him. He had been so resigned. She rather hoped that he would have had a change of heart at the last minute, but she was certain it would have been his sincere intention. 

She caught sight of Lydia, in her black and gold armour, walking back to the farm, her posture still firm, but her head bowed. Vigilance whined softly, his head in her lap. “You’re right, boy. Time to go back in.”


	95. Chapter 95

As Äelberon was no longer sleeping in the farm hands’ room, Runa and Da had insisted that Kaidan, Lucien and Nerussa spend the night there, rather than walking to the tavern through the snow that had just begun to fall. Nerussa was now long past the point where she could bring herself to ask someone what Da’s given name was, so she spent much of the evening listening out for anyone addressing him by name. Unfortunately, even Runa insisted on calling her husband Da…

The three of them filled one another in on the past couple of days, although Nerussa knew she was still rather subdued, worrying about Äelberon. As Lucien turned to take the Nettlebane from his pack to show them, Kaidan reached across the gap between the two beds he and Nerussa were sitting on, and gave her hand a quick, reassuring squeeze. Lucien whirled around, not even having reached the spot where his pack sat.

"A _ha!_ "

Too startled to move, they just blinked at him for a few moments. "Aha?" echoed Kaidan.

Lucien pointed at their hands. "Aha. Secret's out, you can stop attempting to hide this, I can stop pretending not to know, you can tell me when it finally happened so I can… Erm. Make a note for posterity…" They all looked at each other, a little guiltily.

"We're not hiding, Lucien. It's just…" Kaidan trailed off, looking at Nerussa. "We're not, are we?"

"No! Just because we haven't made a big announcement… I don't know, Lucien, it hasn't been long, and we hadn't really… talked about it until we were just in Solitude. And then we got back and Äelberon was gone… What do you mean, pretending not to know? How did you know? _What_ did you know?"

Lucien looked wretchedly at Kaidan. "Sorry…"

"Lucien _may_ not be quite as green as he is cabbage-looking. Found me 'brooding', as he put it, when we were camping outside Riften on the hunt for that bloody great hammer for Auryen."

She quickly ran through the dates in her mind. "But… that was _ages_ ago. That was the night you showed me the stars…" She blushed, and caught Lucien's eye. He just smiled at her, and nodded. 

"Anyway, I was going to show you Nettlebane, and now the cat's out of the bag, you can sit next to each other, if you want to." He turned away again. "Funny phrase, that. 'cat's out of the bag'..."

Kaidan looked over at Nerussa, a shy look on his face. "Do you want to join me?" He mouthed. Rolling her eyes, she climbed across the gap between the beds, and lay down next to him, her head in his lap, grateful that Lydia's brothers were all, apparently, tall enough to need rather larger beds than seemed popular in Skyrim, so she could stretch out comfortably, enjoying the feeling of Kaidan stroking her hair as Lucien began a little talk about the blade and his and Lydia's daring mission to acquire it.

***

In the morning, Nerussa was woken by the bedroom door creaking open, followed by a soft thump, and a quiet “ow!” She lifted her head and saw the back of Lucien’s blue tunic as he hopped through the door, clutching his raised foot in one hand, and was disorientated for a few moments, before realising the reason the door seemed so far away was that she had fallen asleep in Kaidan's bed. The three of them had ended up talking for an hour or two, before Lucien had gone to get changed for bed, leaving the other two whispering together, with every intention of Nerussa moving back to her own bed, soon. Evidently, they had drifted off together before soon had come.

For once, she was pretty sure she really had woken up before Kaidan, given when she rolled over and kissed him, he actually jumped slightly.

"Sorry! I think it's time to get up. Lucien just snuck out." 

"Oh, heck." He looked down at himself. "Did we fall asleep in our bloody common clothes?"

She nodded, and reluctantly sat up, swinging her feet off the bed. 

Upstairs, Lydia still couldn't seem to meet Nerussa's eye, though she had done her best to reassure the Housecarl that she didn't blame her.

"Good morning, you two!" Lucien was his typical, cheery morning self. "Are we still planning to return to Danica today? I think it's probably best to assume Äelberon is fine and will be in touch when he's ready…"

Nerussa nodded, and sat down to breakfast. 

***

“Ah, Lucien, it’s good to see you, how is Brother Äelberon?”

“He was… doing much better when I saw him last, thank you for asking.” Lucien reached into his pack, pulling out a bulky bundle. He gingerly unwrapped it, just enough that Danica was able to peer over his shoulder and grimace at the sight of the peculiar weapon. “Older than metal,” she had told him when she first asked for his assistance. Frustratingly, she had refused to explain what that meant, but Lucien had to admit, whatever the thing was, he did not like it. 

“I hate to ask for more assistance, but…” She gestured around the Temple, its peaceful architecture at odds with the groaning soldiers and sickly farmers lying on cots dotted around the place. “Would you be able to make the trip to the Eldergleam Sanctuary, to collect some sap from the Great Tree?”

“Of course, Sister Danica. I was about to offer, Nerussa and the others are waiting outside, ready for the journey.” She smiled, relieved, and thanked him, marking the approximate location on his map.

As he pushed open the door, relieved by the fresh air on his face, an older Breton man approached him. “Did I hear right? Are you travelling to the grove of the Eldergleam?” When Lucien nodded, he continued. “My name is Maurice, and I am… a pilgrim, I suppose. I have dreamed of seeing Eldergleam for years - might I accompany you? I am not much of a fighter, and have no money to hire a protector, but if you are already heading there…” 

“Of course, we would be happy to have you along with us!”

***

They took the carriage as far as Darkwater Crossing, dropping by Sylgja’s parents to see if they had any letters for their daughter. Lydia promised to see the small package they gave her safely to Shor’s Stone after they finished their task, and they made their way to the Sanctuary, giving Thunder’s territory a wide berth. 

Somehow, the Eldergleam Sanctuary was even more spectacular than Shadowgreen Cavern had been. The centre of the space was dotted with pine trees, lush, green grass, and colourful flowers, surrounded by butterflies and lazily buzzing bees, all encircled by a stream which trickled lazily by as they stood, taking in the sight. On the far side of the cavern, was the Eldergleam itself, the largest tree she had ever seen, spring-like pink blossoms and bright green leaves bathed in sunlight, streaming through a hole in the ceiling. 

It reminded her of a grove near Alinor, although the pink was paler, the leaves brighter. Still, her heart forgot to beat for a moment as she saw it, before her mind caught up with the differences. Kaidan must have noticed the look in her eyes, and he slipped his arm around her shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze, and kissing her hair, just above her ear, whispering, “you okay, sweetheart?”

She nodded, blinking rapidly and taking a quick breath. “Come on, Lucien has some sap to collect.” They walked along the path toward the tree, when the Breton who had left the Temple with Lucien hurried to catch up with the Imperial, tugging urgently on his sleeve. 

“What did she mean, ‘sap to collect’?” 

“Oh, the Priestess of Kynareth in Whiterun asked us to collect a sample of, well, sap, from the Eldergleam, in the hopes of restoring the Gildergreen.” Lucien smiled at the man, and was rather taken aback by the shorter man’s angry response.

“I had no idea you were a man of violence! You would violate this marvel of Kynareth's glory for that half-rotted stump in Whiterun? That's abominable. Barbaric. I'll have no part of this. Why didn't you tell me what you intended?”

“Oh. I… well, I hadn’t really thought of it like that. Do you have an alternative?”

Maurice closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes! Of course, Kynareth has given me the answer. It won’t help the old tree at the Temple, but we could bring a new one!” As they stood, unsure how to respond, the Breton ran the rest of the way to the tree, climbing over the large roots surrounding it. He knelt, offering a prayer, Nerussa supposed. When he stood again, turning with an elated expression, they could see a sapling, barely taller than his waist, covered in the same pink blossoms as the mother tree, its base wrapped in some kind of silken fabric. He beckoned to them to approach.

"The Eldergleam has blessed us with a sapling. You should take it to Whiterun. Danica will want to see that the true blessings of nature lie in renewal, not a slavish maintenance. Thank you for bringing me, my young friends. I am going to remain here for a while, and truly take in Kynareth’s majesty - I am sure one of the other pilgrims can be relied upon to escort me."

With a surprising amount of reverence, Kaidan stepped forward, carefully gathering up the sapling in his arms, and muttering something under his breath that she was almost certain wasn’t an expletive.

***

As they left the Sanctuary, Lydia had realised with obvious alarm that the group would need to head straight back to Whiterun with the sapling, and asked Nerussa for a word.

“I took this package for Sylgja! I thought we could make the trip to Shor’s Stone and then take the carriage from there, but…”

“Well, I’m sure you can manage the journey by yourself, I have some business in Riften the day after tomorrow anyway, so I’ll meet you there.” Lydia looked relieved, and then even more terrified.

“I’ll have to… talk to her! By myself!”

Nerussa smiled, and patted the Nord on the less-armoured shoulder. “I’m in no position to advise on this sort of thing, you’ve probably noticed, but you never know, it might be a bit easier without all of us standing around…” Lydia groaned, but adjusted the pack on her shoulder and nodded.

“Fine. Thank you. I suppose I’ll take my days off early this week?”

“Lydia, I’m pretty sure you’re visiting Shor’s Stone on official business for your Thane, and will then be heading to Riften to liaise with your colleague Iona about… something or other, I don’t know, I’m sure you can find something. Mead, probably. Sounds like part of your working week to me.” Lydia actually cracked a smile at that, and somehow managed to stand even straighter than she already had been.

“Thank you, my Thane. I’ll see you in Riften.”


	96. Chapter 96

Wiping her hands quickly on the cloth by the cookpot, Sylgja hurried to the door. No good news was likely to be arriving at this time - gods, what if her mother had gone adventuring and gotten herself hurt? 

Steadying herself, she opened the door, and was pleasantly surprised to see the dark-haired woman who had taken her letters to Darkwater Crossing the month before. A package from her parents had been left with Filnjar the next day while the miners had been back at work for the first time in weeks.

“Good evening! Lydia, right?” The other woman nodded, and held out a wooden box.

“From your parents? They’re… well.” 

Sylgia smiled, and held the door open. “Would you like to stop for some dinner? It’s nothing fancy, but I always seem to cook too much, and Filnjar and the rest are tired of me palming off the leftovers on them…” Lydia looked briefly terrified, but apparently couldn’t think of a way to refuse, and nodded once more, stepping inside the cottage, ducking her head under the lintel. Tall, dark and handsome women weren’t exactly in ready supply in Shor’s Stone, and Sylgja had no particular intention of letting this one get away with being shy for long. 

***

Danica greeted Lucien warmly outside the Temple the following morning, clasping his wrist in both hands. 

"Did you bring the sap?"

"Actually, no… a pilgrim accompanied us, and he… Well, Kaidan, if you could come forward, it's probably easier if we show you, Danica."

As the Priestess looked around, she took in the sight of Lucien's broad-shouldered companion, in dark breeches and a green tunic, carrying a frail sapling with the kind of care most reserved for babes in arms. His face was hard to read, but Lucien was smiling broadly. The new Thane was with them, looking at Danica uncertainly.

"But... I can't run the Temple without the support of people who are inspired by the Gildergreen. How can this little tree bring new worshippers?"

Lucien's disappointed face made Danica feel ashamed, but as she listened to his reply, her shame turned to resolve.

"I'm not a religious man, Danica, you may have noticed, but Maurice made the excellent point that nature's blessings are found in renewal, not static maintenance. Sometimes, that renewal means accepting that death is a part of the cycle, wouldn't you say?"

Before she spoke, she took a moment to look again at the sapling, ignoring Heimskrr's preaching, and the shouts of children, playing in the street somewhere. A soft breeze played across the leaves and tiny blossoms, brushing over her cheek as she looked on. "I... you're right of course. It can be hard to hear the winds of Kynareth when all you hear are the rabble in the temple. Death feeds new life. I'm sure that, in time, this little sapling will grow into a new Gildergreen that will tower over Whiterun. Thank you. The old tree will need to be cleared away, perhaps some use can be made of the wood… We will have a planting ceremony at New Life, I think " 

"That sounds wonderful, Danica."

The other man stepped forward. Kaidan, she should remember that name.

"If I may, I would like to offer my assistance with clearing the old tree. We didn't spend a lot of time in the cities when I was a lad, but on the odd occasions we came this far into Whiterun, well, I have fond memories of its boughs… If that's all right with you, anyway, Nerussa?"

The Thane nodded, her eyes warm as she looked at the dark-haired young man. Ah, new life, indeed. 

"We would be most grateful for your help, Kaidan. Thank you, all of you."

***

Malborn had left without explanation, Iona said when Lucien and Nerussa arrived at Honeyside that evening, which was no great surprise. Caranwe was still around though, and had insisted on keeping an eye on Honeyside so that Iona could help pick up a little slack around the guardhouse - apparently a number of the newer recruits had gone missing in the past few weeks, after rumours had started spreading of a group of vampire hunters setting up in an old Fort near the border. No sign of Lydia, as yet, though, it seemed. 

Realising Nerussa seemed to feel a little awkward around her Riften Housecarl, Lucien suggested Iona and Caranwe spend the evening in the Bee and Barb, and was relieved when they cheerfully accepted. Nerussa prepared a simple supper of seared slaughterfish and leeks, and they opted to wrap up warmly and eat on the porch, where they could appreciate the aurora over the lake.

“So, you said you have business in Riften? Is that…” he looked around, although he supposed the local guard wouldn’t exactly care, “Guild business?”

Nerussa grinned at him, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “That may have been a slight lie. I _did_ promise Runa that I’d give Lydia a bit of a shove, if I could… Seems like it may have worked, too.”

“Quite the match-maker, aren’t you? Is that part of the blessing, do you suppose, or did you just get a taste for it?”

She paused, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know, maybe a little of both.” Her brow furrowed a little, but she didn’t say anything further. He decided to risk broaching the subject they had been avoiding all day.

“Are you still worried about Äelberon?”

She smiled, ruefully, bringing her feet up onto the chair and hugging her knees. “Perhaps…” 

“I’m sure he’ll be fine, Nerussa. His ‘not at full strength’ is probably still stronger than most people’s absolute best day ever. He told me a little of how he’s used to living, I can’t really hope to understand what it must have been like, but I think he knows what he’s doing. I’m sure he’ll be in touch, when he’s ready.” He considered for a moment. “Perhaps Kaidan might have some better insight than either of us? I think they have, well, quite a bit in common.”

She nodded, staring out over the water for a while, picking at her food. “So… you… Knew… something? About Kaidan and me?”

“Ah, it’s time for This Conversation, is it? Yes, I knew a little. We weren’t constantly talking behind your back or anything, don’t worry. And in case you were going to ask, I don’t really feel comfortable telling you anything specific about what he said. I don’t break confidences.”

He took a deep breath, looking through at her through the hair hanging in front of his eyes - he really needed to get a more practical haircut - before continuing. “I do have a small confession, though. Lydia and I… Well, we were getting a touch frustrated with the two of you, so we may have… amused ourselves with a series of small wagers…” He risked a glance at her, and was surprised to see her throw her head back and laugh.

“Oh, gods, I’m so sorry, it must have been _excruciating!_ Is that where Lydia got the money for young Erik’s armour, then?” 

“I think so, yes. I did win a little back in the end, though.” She smiled, blushing slightly. “I’m glad for you. Both of you.” 

She reached across the table and put her hand on his for a moment. “Thank you, Lucien. You’re always so supportive. It means a lot to me. I… haven’t had a lot of friends in my life, and certainly not many who were like you.”

He felt his face growing warm, and waved his hand uncomfortably. “Well, thank you, Nerussa - that’s very kind! Right! Is that enough Serious Personal Talking? I was hoping to pick your brains about…”

Nerussa raised her hand to silence him. “Did you hear that?” She craned around in her seat, looking over towards the Fishery building, and he followed her gaze. In the darkness, it was hard to make out, but… Yes, there was definitely someone there, and while he couldn’t make out the words, they sounded one: Argonian and two: distressed.

It seemed as though the docks were largely deserted, the gate guard apparently paying no mind to the commotion, but Nerussa was already on her feet. Removing the napkin from his lap, Lucien stood to follow her. 

“You! You must take the Lexicon… Free me of my burden.” The woman had rushed up to them as they crossed the walkway toward her, and grabbed Nerussa - whose hands twitched uncomfortably at the unexpected contact - by the arms.

“Burden? What do you mean?” The Argonian met his eyes, then turned her gaze back to Nerussa before answering his question.

“The memories. I cannot stand them. You must take them away, return them to Avanchnzel! You must take the Lexicon from me… Please, take it now.” Lucien tried to conceal his own reaction to the name - clearly Dwemer! - and took the Lexicon from the woman, who scowled but did not resist.

Nerussa took a quick breath in and pushed it out sharply. “Don’t worry, Lucien will take good care of it. Where is Avanchnzel?”

The woman babbled vaguely about “in the west,” and something about “returning it to them,” but Lucien was only half paying attention, trying to get a good look at the Lexicon, wishing he could cast Candlelight, but not wanting to draw the gate guard’s eye. He had read about these, though they went by different names in different books. “Puzzle box” was a commonly used name - he was fairly sure it was used in, for example, Hasphat Antabolis’s work - but Lexicon certainly sounded more impressive.

A thought struck him, as Nerussa was still trying to get more useful directions from the Argonian, whose name appeared to be Fathoms. “Don’t worry, Nerussa, I’m fairly sure Avanchnzel is one of the sites I marked on my map before I came to Skyrim. Not too far from Heartwood Mill, I believe.”

As soon as they entered Honeyside, he found a soft cloth to wrap the Lexicon in, and made a space for it in his pack. “Our first expedition to a Dwemer ruin, Nerussa - oh, _please_ say we can go!”


	97. Chapter 97

“Thank you, Adrianne, I really appreciate this.” The Imperial woman waved away his thanks, and he put what he had made carefully away in his pack, lifting it onto his shoulder, and walking towards the city gate. His arms ached, though not unpleasantly, from the work of the day. The best of the wood from the Gildergreen had been carefully harvested, and taken to be treated for carving into figurines to represent Kynareth herself. The remainder had been cut up, and piled as neatly as possible inside the Temple and Jorrvaskr, to allow it to dry out fully before the planned bonfire on the night of Old Life. Talk of that festival had, naturally enough, reminded him of his planned Saturalia gift for Nerussa, hence the trip to Adrianne’s forge. 

Ignoring the half-hearted shout from the gate guard, he hopped down off the wall opposite the gate, rather than following the road out of town. He greeted the Khajiit caravanners gladly, and asked if there was a spare spot in their tent, in exchange for a turn taking watch. Atahbah made her usual overtures, but seemed more intrigued than offended by his quiet “not any more, Kitten.” It wasn’t exactly a long walk back to the Lodge, but the thought of rattling around the big, empty house, with only Hjoromir for company, didn’t really appeal, and he hadn’t brought the tent. Nor, he admitted to himself, did he want to risk finding himself back on the receiving end of Thalmor hospitality, if only because he was pretty sure Nerussa would be furious with him when she tracked him down.

“So, is it the lovely Elf, or the handsome Imperial, that this one has to thank for her sad, lonely evening ahead,” Atahbah teased, and he laughed.

“Oh, Lucien’s a good-looking lad, but I don’t see him in that way, no. Think he’d die of fright if I did, so just as well, eh? No, it’s… It’s her.” 

“Well, this one is pleased to see someone has won your heart, and not a little relieved not to have been the one to do it. No offence, friend!” He grinned, and took a swig of his drink.

“Ha, none taken, don’t worry. Not that she’s, er, won my… I wouldn’t go quite that far!”

Atahbah snorted, and began to say something, when they were interrupted by a shifty-looking Bosmer, and the Khajiit went off to trade with him somewhere a little quieter, leaving Kaidan with his thoughts.

***

“Good morning, Nerussa!” Lucien seemed somehow even more cheerful than his usual morning self, why was that? Oh, that was right. They were going to a Dwemer ruin. She grumbled and rolled over, pulling the blanket over her head. She was rather surprised to find herself suddenly entirely un-blanketed, and it took her a few moments to realise what had happened. Sure enough, Lucien stood at the end of the bed, determinedly folding the blanket into a neat rectangle, which he laid carefully at the foot of the bed, all with an excited grin on his face.

“Come on, Kaidan’s due on the carriage tonight, do you want him to worry if we aren’t back when he gets here?” 

“No, I suppose not. Fine, bugger off, then, I need to get dressed, unless you expect me to go trotting around a Dwemer ruin in my nightgown?” He looked theatrically scandalised, and left the room, after giving her strict instructions not to get back under the covers. She sighed, and swung her feet off the bed, wincing a little at the scratchy carpet, although at least it wasn’t bare stone like Iona’s room.

After a quick breakfast, they left the house, taking the path around the dock and over to the southern side of the lake. It began to rain soon after, and even Lucien’s excitement seemed to have toned itself down a little as he began to lament his ‘sloshing’ boots. They each very nearly slipped on the way up the series of smooth, stone-and-metal ramps which led to a rather unprepossessing cave entrance. 

Inside the cavern, Nerussa put her hand out to stop Lucien. Ahead, four ghostly figures coalesced, and began to argue amongst themselves. They didn’t much resemble other phantoms she could remember seeing, either in Skyrim or in the Ayleid ruins she’d visited with Saltar. They felt… vibrant, somehow, glowing orange rather than the more typical soft blue. As they watched the discussion, Nerussa realised one of the figures was the same Argonian woman who had approached them yesterday. Definitely not ghosts, then.

“We should tread carefully,” Lucien whispered, when the… vision had faded. It seemed Fathoms and another Argonian - her partner, one way or another - had hired a couple of Nords to help them steal something from the ruin, obviously the Lexicon. As they crept further into the cave, they began to see bronze-coloured metal pipes, some long-burst, still with steam drifting out of them. “Goodness, look, Nerussa - a real, active Dwarven Spider!”

She had seen them in museums, of course, but those were all carefully de-activated, mere shells. The thing before them was… eerie. It almost looked cheerful, tapping around the floor, bouncing up and down on every so often. The passage was too narrow for them to sneak past it, though - with an apologetic look to Lucien, she aimed a Lightning Bolt at the thing. It leaped into the air, and she fired off another Bolt, taking the thing down. Lucien immediately took off his pack, grabbed his notebook and began sketching.

“Honestly, I’ve read descriptions of how they move, but it’s something quite different to see it. I hope I can remember accurately enough…”

***

Lydia pushed open the door of Honeyside, hoping the Thane hadn’t made it to Riften just yet. Not that she had anything to hide, but she sort of wanted to keep this at least somewhat to herself, for now. She’d need to have a word with Maramal, later, but that could wait. Iona and Caranwe both looked up from their card game.

“Finally got here, eh?” Iona reminded her a little of Aela, somehow, though she was rather less intimidating than the Companion. “The Thane and her milk-drinking friend went off on some adventure this morning, they’re due back in the evening, as is… the other one.” Caranwe raised an eyebrow and turned her attention back to her cards.

“Right. Do you know where they went?” 

“Some Dwarf place, over near Heartwood Mill. They went early, I’m sure they’ll be back soon. If you want to make yourself useful, you could chop some firewood.”

Lydia scowled as she closed the door behind her, and headed to the woodcutting block in the yard. It was none of her business who the Thane employed, or who the Jarl had employed on her behalf, but she wasn’t impressed with Iona. Lydia would not have been so casual about the Thane and Lucien running off to a Dwemer ruin with nobody who could take a hard hit, for a start. Seemed par for the course with the local Jarl, though. Easily influenced, that one, and Riften was a place with a lot of influences… 

***

As they had progressed through the ruin, they had seen the figures a few more times. Lucien had been rather too fascinated by their surroundings to pay much attention, but Nerussa seemed to think the group had actually dug through the side of the mountain, creating the rough initial passage that had brought them into the cave. They had seemed increasingly spooked by the place, and the hired muscle had complained at the unexpectedly difficult fights against the Automata.

They had found the remains - judging by the state of them, the woman at the dock had run straight to Riften - of one mercenary and one thief, close to where they now stood. Lucien's pack was filled with intriguing trinkets, his notebook with sketches. He was most thrilled, however, with the Dwarven halberd he had found, a perfectly balanced thing, almost easier to swing than his sword. 

As they looked into the large chamber ahead of them, one last scene played out - this was simply fascinating, it was surely some peculiar system of this particular ruin, some kind of record of recent events - the remaining Nord attempting to fight the enormous Centurions in the room, successfully bringing one down, but at the cost of her own life. Simultaneously, they had seen the image of From-Deepest-Fathoms running past them into the dark. 

"We need to get to that receptacle," he said, indicating a small podium between where the two Centurions had stood, wishing it was anywhere else in the chamber. "The Lexicon should fit. If we are _very_ lucky, we may find putting it in place de-activates the Centurion. Even with your… With your enhanced luck, though, I suspect that will not be the case."

Nerussa nodded, seemingly unable to take her eyes off the Centurion. He patted her shoulder, and they made their move. Nerussa darted forward, Lexicon in hand, and placed it loosely in the receptacle. As she tried to get a better fit, though, the gargantuan metal figure beside her came to life, bellowing steam as it began to walk.

Nerussa let go of the Lexicon, charging her shock spells, and Lucien drew the halberd. They fought for some time, her robes and his light armour enabling them to dodge the slow-moving automaton's slamming attacks, the ground shaking from the impact. Until Nerussa, beginning to tire, did not move quite quickly enough. He had always thought that when, in books, people in awful situations felt time slow down, it was a metaphor, or at least dramatic hyperbole, but as he saw his friend's body slump to the floor, it began to make sense. 

It wasn't exactly that time felt slower, but that he was more aware… He took in more detail of the situation even than his active mind usually would, but most of all, the awful sounds of the Centurion turning back toward him, the feel of the halberd in his hand, and his own anguished cry, ringing in his ears.

“Nerussa? _No!_ ” Angrily, he charged toward the weakened metal giant, charging a shock spell in his left hand and slamming it back onto the haft of the weapon, as the blade made contact with the Centurion's chest plate, the metal conducting the crackling blue light. He didn't even care when it crackled up his other arm, there was no room in his head for anything but the sight of the automaton toppling backward and the desperate hope that he was not too late to heal her, terror for his friend mixed with the horror of realising what her death might mean for Tamriel.


	98. Chapter 98

“Evening, Lydia. Nerussa inside?” Kaidan’s heart sank when the Housecarl turned toward him, her face full of worry. “No? Any idea where she’s gone?”

“Apparently she and Lucien went off to some Dwarven ruin over west, first thing. It’s not far, they should be back by now. Iona didn’t think to go with them, apparently.” 

“Shit. Well, maybe Lucien just insisted on taking notes on every tiny thing, and they lost track of time…” Lydia raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m not fooling myself, either. Right, shall we go over west, then? Got any more detail? I can think of a couple of places to try…”

Lydia nodded, looking relieved. “Yeah, it’s near the Mill, Iona said. That narrow it down any?”

“Yeah, I think I know the place - never seemed to be any way in, when I’ve gone past before, but maybe somebody found one. Come on, then, let’s go find what’s up. Tell Iona, in case they really are just taking their sweet time, and we miss them on the way…”

***

Her head hurt. Her side also hurt. Lucien seemed to be doing something about it. That was nice of him. She would just rest her eyes and let him get on with it…

“Nerussa? Please, you have to stay awake. I’m having difficulty, this wound… It’s worse than anything I’ve had to heal before. No, don’t try to sit up, just… Stay awake. _Please_.”

Goodness, he sounded worried. He was such a worrier. She was fine. She couldn’t quite remember why she was on the floor, but she was fine. A bit sore. 

His face suddenly loomed before hers, and he was touching her face. She flinched, but he made a soothing, apologetic sound, and she didn’t have the strength to stop him. He was pulling her bottom eyelid down, staring into her eye. No, staring _at_ her eye. He seemed satisfied, though still very worried. She realised her head was resting on something. She reached up, ignoring his attempts to stop her. It felt soft, leathery. His backpack? Sure, why not. She put her hand down again.

“Nerussa, I’m going to … thing Danica taught me ... feel a little invasive. I can’t rely on pulling ... living things nearby ... well, there’s nothing but us alive in here ... have to… draw on our connection … remember times where I've felt… Um. Close to you. Don't worry - not like that, just friendly. Sorry, I'm babbling, aren't I? Did any of that make sense?"

As he continued to speak, it had become a little easier to focus on his words, her curiosity helping. "Mmhm," was all she could manage. 

"Marvellous." He charged his healing spell, holding his hands carefully over her sore side, and she realised he had at some point wrapped something tightly around her abdomen. She tried to feel what it was, but he moved her hand away. "Sorry, Nerussa, it's a bit delicate, don't touch. It's just my old outfit, it was all I had. We should probably start carrying bandages… It's… holding you together, so I can heal you."

She let her hand drop back to her side, and tried to relax, realising suddenly how proud she was of Lucien, that he had managed to toughen up considerably in his time in Skyrim, without becoming hard, or cold. She wondered vaguely what had happened to the Centurion that had hit her. 

As Lucien began to cast, a strange, dream-like feeling washed over her. Images and sounds drifted vaguely through her mind, memories of their early adventures around Whiterun hold, joining the College, quickly skimmed past. Their conversation on the way to fight that first dragon, and she realised with a start that she was seeing through Lucien's eyes. She managed to stay still, though, only her right leg twitching briefly. More moments popped into her head, all out of order, study sessions and Broken Helm Hollow, his quiet delight at seeing her and Kaidan curled up in the Alfgoll room together, her confession in the carriage from Winterhold, the honey cake she had snaffled at the King Olaf thing, his disgust at learning how Mer back home had made her feel… It threatened to overwhelm her, but she counted in the back of her mind and soon enough it was over. 

She took an experimental breath, and realised the pain in her side was gone. Her head felt clearer, too, although still a little sore.

"How do you feel?" His voice was hesitant, and she had the feeling he had been crying. She reached out and squeezed his hand.

"Much, much better. Lucien, you are, oh, what's the word? Marvellous."

***

The moons were high in the sky as they left the cave, 'gibbous', Lucien said they were. He had initially insisted that she lean on him as they walked, but their relative heights made it rather uncomfortable, so he lent her his new halberd as a makeshift staff instead. As they crossed to the stone ramp, she realised someone was walking toward them. 

"Kaidan? Lydia? What are…" She was swept up in a hug, her feet dangling a few pertans from the ground. 

"What the bloody hell have you two been up to?" He put her down, his hand resting on her waist, his expression turning from relief back to concern when the torn fabric of her robes shifted, leaving bare, soft skin under his hand. He frowned, insistently meeting her gaze as his hand checked for scars.

"Oh, we had a bit of an altercation with a Dwemer Centurion. I got careless and it could have been pretty bad, but Lucien brought the thing down and healed me. I'm sorry if we worried you. Pretty tired, though, I don't suppose you brought camping things?"

Kaidan helped her down the ramp and they found a nearby spot, too close to the road, but nobody seemed to believe her when she said she could walk at least a little further. Lydia began to set up camp while the two men made a rather silly amount of fuss. She was glad when the fire was made and she could sort through her pack, find something to change into. She shooed them away, and crawled into the tent to put her green dress on. 

Outside, she could just make out Kaidan and Lucien's voices.

"...not your fault, Lucien. We both know she's headstrong, it's part of why I… Well, anyroad, I'm just grateful you got her out of there in one piece, and glad you survived it, too, brother."

She couldn't quite make out Lucien's response, but he sounded about as flustered as she would have expected. She smiled to herself, and waited a few minutes before returning to the fire.


	99. Chapter 99

They spent the next few days in Honeyside, which felt unusually quiet after the initial shouting when they got back. It had been so bad that a guard had knocked on the door of Honeyside to check if everything was all right. He had taken one look at Iona and vanished. Shortly after, the captain of the guard had come and asked Iona and Lydia to accompany him, and within the hour, Iona had been brought back by yet another guard to collect her things before being escorted from the city. 

Nerussa had been rather taken aback, but when Lydia returned, she explained that Iona's insolence when the captain had asked for an explanation of the previous day's events had been the last straw. The quietness was down to the absence of both Lydia and Caranwe, as the Nord had been asked to assist in giving Caranwe a few days' training in what would be expected of her as a Housecarl. Iona had apparently given the She-Elf the impression that her position was largely a case of watching the house itself. Caranwe had been horrified when she realised the possible consequences of Iona's failure to at least offer to accompany Nerussa and Lucien to Avanchnzel, and it had been decided - with Nerussa’s approval - that Caranwe should take over the position. 

On the second day, Lucien took the carriage to Winterhold, expressing a curiosity about developments with the strange orb from Saarthal, and a desire to pick up more spell tomes from Colette, and perhaps Enthir, along with delivering the staff from Pinemoon to the shady Elf. He said he was more than happy to return the remainder of J'zargo's scrolls, along with Nerussa's rather terse Notes on the experimental use thereof. 

Nerussa felt almost entirely better by that point, but she wasn't sorry to find herself alone in the house with Kaidan. He was treating her a little too cautiously for her liking, but she soon put paid to that. By the afternoon he had relaxed considerably, and barely winced when she made an off-hand comment about the book she was reading - another volume of A Dance in Fire - being side-splittingly funny.

On the fourth evening, shortly after Lucien’s return, there was a knock at the door. Olette, the red-haired girl who sometimes ran messages for Brynjolf, thrust a paper into her hand, her own hand remaining where it was, palm upward. 

"Come, now, Olette, you put that hand down, and I'll pretend not to notice the gem that's missing from one of my pockets…"

"Aye, fair enough, Nerussa. Be seeing ya!" She watched the girl go, wondering - not for the first time - where she spent the nights. Not in the Cistern, as far as Nerussa had been able to make out. 

Turning her attention to the note, she saw it was a request that she visit the Cistern 'at her earliest convenience.' Oddly formal, she thought. 

***

“Ah, thank you for coming so quickly, lass. Hope Olette wasn’t too much trouble?” 

“Oh, no more than she ought to be. What’s wrong, Brynjolf?” The Nord laughed, and gestured to a chair near his own.

“Nothing’s wrong, lass, I just have a message from Karliah - details of where to go for… what was discussed when last we met - and a question to ask you.” 

She checked the paper he gave her, and tucked it into the satchel at her waist. “Thank you, I’ll head there first thing. What question?”

For the first time she could remember, at least on his home turf, Brynjolf seemed nervous. 

“Well, lass, I’ve got a… proposition for you. Thanks to your efforts, the Guild is without a leader, and I’m sure I don’t have to go into what a bad state of affairs that could turn into? I know you’ve been… circumspect, let’s say, in what you have shared with us of your life outside these walls, and I don’t blame you for it, but, well, what kind of thief would I be if I didn’t keep tabs on newcomers to this place?” He sighed, and rubbed his temples. 

“What I’m getting at, lass, is I understand you’re a busy woman, sorry, _She-Elf_ , and I know you can’t exactly commit to spending your every waking hour in this place, unlike Mercer. That said, I’d like to ask you to consider assuming the mantle of Guildmistress. Not quite yet, I’d like to wait to formally announce it until we’ve got a better foothold in Markarth and Solitude - speaking of which, Delvin has something for you - but I’d be grateful if you could at least give me a general idea of whether it’s something you’d be prepared to do? Most of the work would still fall on me, and Delvin and Vex, of course.”

She looked around, remembering Äelberon’s revelation about Auntie Estoril - although having looked through her old letters since their conversation, she had spotted a few tell-tale indicators, which made her wonder what she didn’t know about her own Senna… In any case, she thought also of her rather embarrassed confession to her friends that she would like to steer Skyrim’s Guild onto a somewhat better path. She took a deep breath.

“So, if I took over, would I be a mere figurehead, or would I be able to actually make some changes around here?”

Brynjolf considered her, a sly smile on his face. “What did you have in mind, lass? Though, truth be told, from some of what I’ve heard from Vex and Delvin, I can probably hazard a guess.”

She grinned. “Well, I’ve heard tales of how the Guild used to operate, here and in Cyrodiil. I think the time has come to bring back that side of our ‘former glory’, as well, not simply the power and riches. If you put me in this position, Brynjolf, I will be implementing some new rules.” 

He reached out and clasped her wrist with both of his hands. “I think we would all be very interested to join you in that. You know Maven Black-Briar won’t like it, though, I take it?”

Her grin broadened, and she let any warmth slip out of her expression. “Oh, I am fully aware she won’t.”

***

**16th Evening Star, Ivarstead**

Just stopping through on our way to Falkreath. Spoke with Brynjolf yesterday, he wants me to lead the Guild, going forward. I am so unbearably tempted to write to Senna, but it’s just not worth the risk to her. Before I met with Brynjolf, I was approached by a sleazy-looking Breton called Louis Letrush, who wanted me to speak to Sibbi, one of Maven Black-Briar’s obnoxious sons, about a horse Sibbi had ‘sold’ him. Naturally enough, it turned out not to have been Sibbi’s to sell, belonging squarely to his mother. I’m happy enough to be an irritant to her, while I figure out how to finally push her out of Guild affairs - at present I’m affluent enough to match her for ready cash, but I suspect she has rather more long-standing ‘assets’ than I do. 

Black-Briar also felt it necessary to boast of the reason he has been languishing in the cells all these months - he’s the revolting Nord I wrote of in one of my first entries, who kept trying to attract my attention when I spent that night in the cell facing his, though the odd Khajiit in the cell next to his was no longer there. Apparently, he murdered a man. The brother of a young woman he had been betrothed to. He even asked me to track her down. He described her as “buxom, with long flowing black hair”, and said she used to sing to him - for a moment, as he described her singing voice, he almost seemed sincerely wistful. Of course, that turned sour quickly, and he finished by vowing to “wring her little neck.” 

I agreed to track her down, although I made no promises as to informing him of anything I found. When we arrived here in Ivarstead, I couldn’t help but notice something as we entered the tavern. The bard, Lynly was singing. She has quite the loveliest voice of any of the bards I've heard so far in Skyrim, even surpassing those of the Bards' College. The first time we were here, her hair was barely below her ears, and a bright, warm blonde. I hadn’t noticed much change on subsequent visits, but today it was obvious. Whatever treatment she had to change the colour, I imagine it’s harder to come by out here in the middle of nowhere, and her roots were a pertan or two long, jet black, the lengths having gone from warm to brass-like.

When she was done singing, I took her aside. She was understandably reluctant to admit the truth, but when I showed her my amulet of Mara, she recognised my voice as the one who helped Fastred and Klimmek. I promised her that I would spin some lie to Sibbi, and she begged me to also warn the girl he had betrayed her with. Svana, the niece of Haelga, she of Haelga’s Bunkhouse. I must admit, I was touched by her concern for the ‘other woman’, not many such young women are quite so ready to forgive, although I suppose not that many such young women know quite so well that the man who was the one to truly betray them is entirely capable of murder. I must also admit, I feel a touch guilty for my resentment of her, on one of our previous visits. I didn’t understand why, of course, because I hadn’t actually realised I might feel anything other than friendship for Kaidan, I just felt strangely irritated by their perfectly mundane conversation in the great room while I studied in bed. I don't seem to feel the same way when he talks to other people, now - not just women, of course, as he's told me. I imagine it would be exhausting to be envious of every single remotely attractive person he spoke to. But, well... He has a way of making me feel like the only person he really sees. Gods, I hope he never cracks the cypher I use in this thing...

So, tomorrow I must walk the Pilgrim’s Path in the Twilight Sepulchre. I honestly have no idea what to expect, even Karliah has never gone through the experience. “Created to test those who wish to serve in other ways,” she said when we briefly discussed it after Mercer’s death. She sent a brief set of directions via Brynjolf, and tomorrow’s date. 

Can’t say I’m not nervous, but it will be a relief not to have the Skeleton Key in my possession any more. I have not used it, nor do I want to, but there is clearly something… attractive about it. I can see how, over a quarter of a century, it would have had quite the effect on Frey, aside from his own underlying malevolence. Which is to say, he was a bastard, and it probably made him worse. The one thing that I did gather from speaking to Karliah is there is a very real chance I may speak to Nocturnal once more. I wonder… Well, I suppose I will see what happens tomorrow evening. Kaidan and the others want to come and lurk outside, of course, but there’s no way I’m letting them anywhere near that place, they can stay in the tavern in Falkreath. Funny to think that’s where so much of all this really began - of course, joining the Guild has had a huge influence on my time in Skyrim, but not so much as befriending Lucien. Right, between that and the sight of Kaidan smiling over at me, I’m in danger of getting sentimental, so I’ll stop writing now.


	100. Chapter 100

As they made their way to the waiting carriage on the following morning, Nerussa’s attention was drawn by a low, mournful wail, which seemed to come from the small, ruined house on the far side of the river, at the very foot of the mountain. Leaving her things with the others, she crossed the water and rounded the corner of the house. 

A young man, dressed in ragged, filthy common clothes, was curled up on the floor, hugging his knees and moaning softly. As she approached, he began to speak, clutching wretchedly at his arms and looking desperately around, first sitting, then standing as he became more agitated.

“I can’t _see_ you, Reyda! Why are you _hiding?_ Hide, hide, _hide!_ Don’t make me sad…” 

Nerussa bent her knees a little, bringing her face in line with the man’s, trying not to react to the smell of stale mead and sweat and… other things that came from him. “Are you all right?”

He stared at her face, not making eye contact. Gods, at such close quarters, he didn’t seem much older than Lucien, although he was certainly more… weathered than her friend. “Reyda was here, then gone! Went to gather plants, never came home… Nope, nope, nope…” He took a breath, apparently trying to calm himself. She wished she had brought Lucien with her, he could have helped with that, but she daren’t risk going to fetch him. She tentatively put a hand on the man’s arm, but he flinched and she withdrew it, raising her hands to show she would not touch him again. 

“Everyone looked, and no-one could find her… Willhelm said she’ll be back, told Narfi not to worry. Reyda will come back…”

“Narfi? That’s your name?” The man nodded, vaguely, but he wouldn’t say any more, resuming his place on the floor of the ruined house. As she turned to leave, unsure what to do, she heard him muttering to himself. “Father… I said goodbye. Mother… I said goodbye. Reyda leaves and Narfi _can’t_ say goodbye… Makes Narfi so _sad._ Narfi _needs_ to say goodbye…”

Glancing at the sky to see the position of the sun, she was reasonably sure they had time for her to at least speak to Willhelm. Crossing back over the river, she climbed the few steps to the Vilemyr Inn, and approached the innkeeper. “Can you tell me anything about Narfi?”

Wilhelm sighed, and kept wiping down the counter. “Ah, he’s harmless enough. Been in a state ever since his sister, Reyda, disappeared last year. Just keeps to himself, though, in what used to be his folks’ farmhouse. Did he bother you?”

“No, nothing like that, I just heard him… He seemed upset. He said you told him his sister would be back?”

He looked uncomfortable, but nodded. “I only said it to make him feel better. Poor guy. I’m pretty sure she’s dead. Not the type to run off without letting him know, you know?”

She nodded. “Is there anything else you could tell me - he said he needs to say goodbye, I think part of him knows she’s dead… Perhaps if I could find some proof, it might help him.” 

“Reyda used to gather ingredients, not much of an alchemist herself, but she collected fine samples, dried them carefully, and there was often a travelling merchant who’d buy them from her… You might try the island just east of here, or even around the riverbanks. Just steer clear of the Barrow, up on the hill. Like I say, she used to go gathering ingredients, then one day, she just... vanished.” He looked uncertain for a moment, then lowered his voice. “Don’t say anything about this, but… The night before she vanished, we had a… Peculiar fellow stayed here. Gloomy, you know? Something _off_ about him. Strange eyes... I always wondered… Well, I hope not, but…” He sighed. “I tried to look for her, when a few of us realised nobody had seen her since dawn. She never turned up, though.”

Nerussa nodded, thanked Willhelm, and left the tavern. She didn’t fancy trying to swim out to the island if she didn’t have to, so she started by the bridge out of the village. Kaidan had come to see what was going on, so she shoved her pack at him and waded into the water.

“Er, Nerussa? We’ve got a carriage waiting for us… Also, it’s fucking freezing, do you really want to be getting your skirt soaked through?” She waved a hand irritably at him, and he sighed and lifted her pack onto his hip as she turned away.

All too quickly - surely someone would have seen the body, if they’d only looked properly - she found a sad, small skeleton. Adult, but only barely, with a nearly ruined satchel nearby. Perhaps she had died - been killed, most likely - further up stream and her remains had been washed up after Willhelm had given up looking… The satchel fell to pieces as she tried to pick it up, whatever ingredients she had gathered that day having long since rotted away, but she caught a glint of sunlight, reflecting off something near the skull. A silver pendant, with a small R carefully scratched into the back. She grabbed it, and waded back to the river bank, where Kaidan stood, his eyebrow raised.

“He seemed so miserable, Kaidan, his sister… Well, she’s been gone for over a year, and nobody told him the obvious truth. I just… I just wanted to help him.”

Kaidan nodded, and put his arm around her as they walked back toward the ruined house. “Don’t suppose there’s any point suggesting you change your clothes before you finish this?” She shook her head, and he turned to gently kiss the tip of her ear.

“Fine, but don’t blame me when your legs drop off from the cold. Want me to come with you, or shall I wait here?”

“I think it’s best I go alone.” Crossing the river, she found Narfi, standing with his back to her, staring up at the mountain. 

“Narfi… I found Reyda’s necklace.” She held it out, and he turned, taking it from her hand, his eyes full of confusion. 

“You saw Reyda? Did you tell her Narfi cries? Did you tell her, he’s sorry he never got to say goodbye?”

For a moment, she was uncertain what to do. Willhelm had been trying to be kind to the lost young man, but what good had it done? But there again, she was reluctant to destroy his last hope. She sighed.

“I’m so sorry, Narfi. I found… Reyda’s dead. I am sure she would never have left without saying goodbye to you. I think she must have had… some bad luck.”

He made a keening sound, clutching at his arms again, but he managed to stay upright, at least. After some minutes, he managed to still his breathing, and spoke in a relatively calm way. “At least Narfi has Reyda’s necklace… Something to remember his sister by. Thank you, lady, for bringing this to Narfi.” With that, he went back into the ruined house. Kaidan stepped forward. “I know it probably doesn’t feel like it, but you did him a kindness.”

She nodded, and took the dry clothes he held out to her, ducking behind a large rock to change into them. “I hope so. Let’s get to the carriage.”

***

The sky was shading from indigo to orange as she arrived at the Twilight Sepulchre, which felt appropriate. Two small braziers in the gloom revealed a fairly ordinary iron door with a few carvings in the rock around it, and she pushed it open. Inside was a rather more impressive archway, topping a stone stairway which was lit with candles. At the foot of the stairs stood a pale, translucent figure, whose silhouette suggested it wore the same armour she did. She slipped out of the common clothes she had put on over the armour, rested them and her pack by the door, and strode forward, as confidently as she could.

“I… don’t recognise you, but I sense you are… one of us. Who are you?” The Phantom’s voice was slow and had a faint echo, which did not appear to be solely down to the shape of the chamber. 

“Nerussa. I didn’t expect to find anyone here…”

The Phantom shifted, seeming uncomfortable. “I am the last of the Nightingale Sentinels, I’m afraid… I’ve defended the Sepulchre alone for what seems like… an eternity.”

“The last? There were more, then? What happened to them?” Her eyes were adjusting to the dim light, and she could see further around the archway, yet there was an odd quality to the shadows. She shivered, and turned her attention back to the Sentinel, not entirely surprised by its… _his_ next words.

“We were... betrayed by... one of our own. In fact… I am to blame for what… happened here.” The Phantom shifted once more, and she did her best to appear encouraging. “I was… blinded. Blinded by dark treachery, masquerading as friendship.” Anger was creeping into the Sentinel’s voice, and it spoke more quickly, seeming a little brighter as it did so. “Perhaps if I had been more _vigilant_ , Mercer Frey wouldn’t have lured me to my fate, and stolen the Skeleton Key.”

“You are Gallus, then?”

“I haven’t heard that name in a long time. How do you know of me?” The Phantom’s voice was growing excited, and for a moment it almost lost its translucency. She took a moment before replying, not wanting to overwhelm Gallus, or what remained of his spirit.

“I have the Key.” She patted the pouch at her belt where it lay. 

“You have the Skeleton Key! I never thought to see it again!” There was a longing in its voice, but it continued. “You are wise to keep it hidden away. And… Mercer Frey?”

“Dead.”

The Phantom seemed to calm with the word. “Then… It is over, and my death was not in vain. I owe you a great deal, Nightingale.”

“I did this for the Guild.”

“You have done them a great deed. And although they may not show it, I am certain they appreciate your sacrifices. My only regret is that you had to undertake this task alone…”

She smiled a little behind her mask. “Actually… Karliah helped me.”

The Sentinel glowed so brightly that it hurt her eyes for a moment. “ _Karliah?_ She’s… still alive? I feared she must have befallen the same fate, another victim of Mercer’s betrayal!”

“Then take the Key, and right the wrongs.”

The Phantom faded, so much that she could barely make him out any more. “Nothing would bring me more pride than to return the Key, but I’m afraid it is impossible. From the moment I arrived here, I’ve felt myself… Well… Dying.”

“How can a spirit die?”

“It is hard to explain. Perhaps fading would be the better word, if you insist on it. The Sepulchre is no mere Temple, nor a vault to house the Key. Within these walls lies the Ebonmere - a conduit to Nocturnal’s realm of Evergloam. With Mercer’s betrayal, the conduit… closed, severely limiting our ties to Her. Since then, I have been… Fading.”

“Then I will proceed alone?” She had expected this anyway, but she had to admit, some company, even that of a temperamental spirit, might have helped with the uneasy feeling she got as she glanced into the shadows around her.

“I’m afraid so. I am… weakening, and I can feel myself… slipping away. The years without… restoration of my power have… Taken their toll. You will need to follow the Pilgrim’s Path to the Ebonmere, and replace the Key. This is the only way to… correct things.”

She nodded, and started to make her way up the stairs, but the Sentinel called out, quietly. “I said I was the last Sentinel here. That is not… entirely accurate.” She raised an eyebrow, glad that at least that part of her face was visible behind the mask. “Some do remain, but with their sudden severance from the realm of Evergloam, I fear they have undergone a… drastic change. They are shadows of their former selves. Even more so than I. They no longer remember their true purpose, their original identities, and I am certain no prompting would help.” 

They spoke for a few minutes more, about the nature of Nocturnal’s influence, and the role the Ebonmere played in the process. Before she headed up the stairs, Gallus pointed into the shadows. “The only possible help navigating the Path might be on the remains I found in that corner - some poor fellow, trying to follow the Path. There was a journal - perhaps it may be of use.”

Running her bare fingertips over the carved detail on her armour, she pushed down her nerves at the thought of venturing into the shadow where he pointed. She ignored the faint, whispering sounds at the edge of her hearing, as best she could, and pushed forward into the darkness, her skin chilled through the armour by the mist which she now noticed was covering the floor of the chamber. She bit back a yelp when her foot bumped into something hard, and surprisingly light. Sure enough, it was a skeleton, rotten clothes falling away as she made herself feel for the journal. She tried not to think of Reyda, how she might have met her end.

Back in the dim light of the candles, Nerussa leafed through the journal. Some waffle about the writer’s purpose at the Sepulchre - and a mention of an accomplice - followed by irritatingly cryptic drivel which she hoped would make more sense when she had more context. When she went further inside. _Oghma’s tits,_ she thought to herself, _you’ve got the soul of a damn Dragon, start acting like it. You haven’t been afraid of the dark since you were an Elfling, clinging to Lenya’s skirts!_ She drew herself up to her full height, and walked up the stairs.

***

“Shor’s bones, you’re back, lad, and in one piece!” Narri had been worried when the well-mannered Imperial had left with that scruffy High Elf back in the summer, but he was looking surprisingly well when Narri arrived in the tavern for her evening’s work. “No sign of your companion, though?” She looked around, curious. She hadn’t taken quite such a liking to the Elf, but to be fair, she had been polite enough, paid for a full meal even though she was clearly low on coin, and caused no trouble, unlike some Narri could mention. She glanced around once more, relieved to see no sign of _her_. Creepy bitch in her Thalmor robes - claimed not to be one of them any more, but anyone could see she was waiting for that change. 

“Oh, she’s taking care of something, she’ll be along later - actually, I hope it’s not too much trouble, but there’s a good chance she’ll arrive in the small hours, is that all right? Do you think Valga will mind?” Narri waved away his concerns, and bustled over to greet her employer.

“Ah, and here’s trouble,” she said, eyeing the Bounty Hunter at the bar, who laughed. 

“I see, Lucien gets a fuss made of him, and I get that. Eh, fair enough, I suppose. How’ve you been, Narri?”

“Not so bad, lad, not so bad. Checked the board outside, have you? Valga put up a couple of notices today.” 

“Actually, sort of out of the bounty hunting line of work, at least for now. I’ve… fallen in with a good crowd.” He grinned, a little shyly, and she thought back to the serious little lad who used to come into Falkreath with his guardian every few months to sell ‘totally legally hunted’ game, and pick up leads on work. Kaidan was probably only ten years younger than her, but she always felt oddly motherly towards him, however handsome he had grown up to be. 

“Ha, good to hear it. Lucien, is it? And the High Elf he took off with?” Kaidan’s eyes grew soft, and she grinned. Well, well. Good for him.

***

The first part of the journal had been obvious enough, but then, Gallus had warned her of the other Sentinels already. Slipping by them had been easy enough with Invisibility, in any case. She could well believe the part about ‘dealing swift death.’ Past them, she slipped through a door into an immense chamber, filled with shadow as only a space with strategically placed, bright lights could be. She checked the journal again. _Beholden to the murk yet contentious of the glow_... Well, she wasn’t sure, but she rather suspected, even without the journal’s hint, that she ought to stick to the shadows. 

Because she knew Lucien would never forgive her if she didn’t ‘test her hypothesis’, she carefully extended the tip of one finger into the light, drawing it back with a sharp intake of breath at the pain. Definitely sticking to the shadows, she thought, casting a quick healing spell, and turning invisible once again.

Creeping cautiously up the steps to the nearest of several platforms in the gloom, she carefully stepped over a tripwire, and glanced around. There seemed to be no more Sentinels in this area, but she didn’t want to be reckless - after all, anything could be hiding in the shadows, here of all places. 

She followed the shadowed path, across narrow wooden bridges linking the platforms, avoiding more traps, until she came to the next chamber. Inside, she found herself looking up at a statue, depicting a shapely woman in a revealing robe. Very much not the impression she had taken from Nocturnal’s voice in Nightingale Hall, Nerussa thought to herself. Not that she had sounded… unattractive, or anything, just… rather more serious than the statue seemed to suggest.

After a moment’s further thought, she chided herself for that - there was no reason a serious person couldn’t also have a sensual side, after all… She looked closer at the plinth below the statue. A small pile of gold and gemstones, almost theatrically staged with the desiccated remains of some attempted thief on the floor nearby, its skeletal hand reaching toward the pile. Hmm. No, not a thief - well, at least, she would stake her life that they had not been attempting to _take_ what was on the… she supposed it was a shrine, of sorts. She leafed through the journal again, confirming her suspicions. _Offer what She desires most, but reject the material. For her greatest want is that which cannot be seen, felt or carried._

Sighing, she looked around. Beyond one of the two torches lighting the space, she could just make out a pull-chain. A cautious tug extinguished the torch. Moving to the other side of the space, she found a second chain, and the room was plunged into blackness. She followed the sound of a lowering stone panel, and slipped into the narrow passage behind it, ducking her head. Ahead, she saw a swinging blade trap begin its deadly motion. She could probably have dashed through safely - she had done so in other ancient halls - but a faint breeze to her left drew her attention to an iron door, secured with an inordinately complex lock. She felt a slight increase in the weight of the pouch at her hip, as though the Key was trying to draw her attention, but she ignored it, pulling out her own set of tools.

Seven broken picks later, she crept through a chamber filled with more of the Sentinels - she had grown accustomed to the peculiar feel of the place now, and realised to her fascination that they were much darker than Gallus had been. Where he had glowed - faintly, and at times less faintly - a pale blue, these were more like… Moving shadows, if shadows had substance. Thankfully, they were still more focused on their own misfortune, and did not notice her invisibly slipping between them. 

Finally, she found herself standing at the edge of a pit. She had rather been expecting something like this, the final note from the journal running through her mind. _The Empress's embrace awaits the fallen. Hesitate not if you wish to gift her your eternal devotion._

Nerussa still wasn’t entirely sure about that last part, but it was clear this was the only way forward. She leapt.


	101. Chapter 101

Glaring at the shrine of Akatosh, Nerussa looked around, trying to get her bearings. This wasn’t the way she had come. She sighed and retraced her steps, choosing the other path away from the Sepulchre. This was more like it, she thought, passing the scattered remains of three imps which had attacked her on her initial approach. She’d asked Kaidan for some pointers on navigating by the stars, in the carriage, but he’d admitted it was one survival skill he’d never really got the hang of. So, she was stuck with ‘paying attention to her surroundings’ and ‘trying to remember the way she had come.’ 

Neither of which was exactly easy with the last hour or so swirling around her head. She had found the remains of the journal-writer’s accomplice in the bottom of the pit, and nothing else. She had been on the verge of activating the Resonant Sphere, when the Key had suddenly been in her hand, and somehow the floor beneath her had just… not been an issue any more. Possibly she had banged her head at some point? The memory of that part was hazy. She had fallen again, far less than… Damn it, she had gotten turned around again. She backed away from the fort, relieved not to have attracted the attention of the Orcs she had seen when she passed at sunset.

She wasn’t surprised when her thoughts drifted back. Placing the Key into the ebony Lock in the centre of the shimmering moonstone-like circle where she had landed, backing away as it began to shift. Dragged her thoughts back to her surroundings, realising just in time that she had been heading in the wrong direction once more. Nocturnal’s… offer. “Someone has Interceded. I have Negotiated with them. If you perform one more service for a follower of Mine, your Oath will be considered annulled, your debt paid in full. I would be sorry to see it, little mortal, you are intriguing indeed, but it is your choice.” 

Stones under her feet. She looked down. Back at the road, wonderful. She thought she caught a glimpse of white hair ducking between the trees a little way along the road, toward Lake Ilinalta, but the long day and night were catching up with her, and she suddenly realised she was too tired to really care. As she began to pick up speed, following the road south, resisting the temptation to cut across the graveyard, she felt drops begin to fall from the sky, followed by a flash of lightning and half a heartbeat later, a rumble of thunder.

Wishing she still had her woolen dress on, rather than the linen tunic and breeches she had put on outside Ivarstead, she pushed on, the water soaking into the fabric and weighing down her cloak and hair. By the time she arrived in Falkreath and pushed open the door of the tavern, she felt - and, she imagined, looked - like a drowned rat.

“Kynareth been putting on a show, has she? Come in, get yourself sat down by the fire, I’ll get you some dry clothes...” Kaidan, his voice quiet, quickly wrapped his arms round her, ignoring the rainwater soaking into his own clothes, then steered her through the dark tavern toward the remains of the fire - still blessedly warm, but not the roaring blaze of an average evening. She sat, shivering, as he disappeared through the empty doorway of the larger bedroom of the tavern. She had no idea why some of the taverns didn’t have doors to all the rooms, the Nords didn’t seem like an overly prudish bunch who would want to dissuade… certain activities. Perhaps they had simply been knocked off during a series of particularly rambunctious brawls.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I couldn’t find any more clothes in your pack, your dress isn’t dry enough yet, and your robes still need mendin’. I brought you these, hope they’re okay…” He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, and with the other, held out a dark brown bundle. She took them from him, confused at first.

“These are yours?” He nodded. She didn’t really know what to say to that, so she checked the room definitely didn’t have any lurking drunks, dozing, ready to wake up at the worst possible moment, and stripped, ignoring Kaidan’s raised eyebrow, and gratefully pulling on the warm, dry clothes. “Don’t want to go far from the fire,” she offered as explanation. Words were starting to get a little tricky. Damn.

The breeches fit surprisingly well, if a little loose around the waist. The tunic was, well, rather baggy, although at least the arms were only a bit too long. She looked up at Kaidan, but he’d gone again. She frowned, and sat back down.

He appeared through a trapdoor she hadn’t even known was there, a red towel tucked under his arm, and grinned as he crossed the room to her. “Look better on you, they do. Here, you shouldn’t leave your hair sopping wet, you’ll wake up with a chill.” He held out the towel, and she smiled at him as she took it, wringing as much water as she could out of her hair. It still stuck to her face, though, and was making the tunic feel damp and less pleasant, although it still smelled… good. Like Kaidan, she thought, her cheeks and ear-tips warming. When she looked up, she saw he was holding out a cup of something and smiling lopsidedly at her.

“Here, let me braid it for you. It’ll probably dry a bit funny, but it’ll keep it off your face for now.” She nodded, took a sip from the cup - spiced wine! - and gave him another smile. He picked up another chair - she was very glad he hadn’t dragged it, she wasn’t sure if she could handle the sound, even if it didn’t disturb anyone else - and positioned himself behind her, combing through her hair with his fingers, splitting it into three sections and softly kissing the nape of her neck before setting to work.

“So, how did it go, then?” 

***

"Good morning, you two! Sorry to disturb, but you did say you wanted to head to Markarth, and I just overheard a couple who seemed to be preparing to head to the carriage. Shall I go and ask them if they can wait a little while?"

"Yes, please, Lucien. Come on, beautiful, rise and shine. No, no turning over…"

Nerussa sat up and pulled on her boots, sticking her tongue out at Kaidan when he suggested she put her own clothes on, now the dress was dry. "I distinctly remember you saying they looked better on me, Kaidan… besides," she wrapped her arms around his neck, "they smell of you. Very reassuring." 

"Give over. Fine, you can keep it on for today. I'll need it back, though, some of us don't have that many changes of clothes."

She tutted, fastening her cloak around her neck and picking up her pack. "That's hardly my fault, you get your share of the spoils of our adventures. I don't even know what you do with it."

He turned to pick up his own pack, so she couldn't see his face when he replied. "Ah, I'm putting it aside, case I ever need owt…" Straightening up, he put a hand on the small of her back, guiding her out of the room and toward the door of the tavern, not giving her a chance to say anything else.

***

Endon looked nervously around the Silver-Blood Inn, before returning to the room where he had eaten his evening meal, telling Kleppr his wife had sent him out for the evening so their daughter could prepare a Saturalia surprise. He had not heard back from his Riften contact, so had no idea what to expect, if the… person he was meeting even came. "Set a thief to catch a thief" was all very well, but he resented that it had come to this. 

The Skald was drumming in the Great Room, and Endon just hoped he wouldn't start singing again. Not that he could blame the man, being released from Cidhna Mine after two months was certainly cause for celebration, but he was just so… _loud_. 

Suddenly, he was not alone in the room. It was as though the Elf had just blinked into existence, and it took him a moment to realise she must have been invisible. That seemed a good sign - no everyday thug, then? 

"Thank goodness you're here, I didn't know where else to turn." He indicated the second seat, and she silently closed the door before sitting. He launched into his prepared explanation, hoping she would not interrupt.

"Several months ago, I ordered a special silver mould from some artisans in Valenwood by way of a Khajiit Caravan. Well, it never arrived. Later I found out that it was robbed by a group of bandits led by someone named Rigel Strong-Arm." 

The Elf - must be an Altmer, she was _so tall_ \- was looking closely at him, almost like the way he inspected gems some of the miners would bring him, knowing they'd accept a lower price for what they had smuggled out of Kolskeggr or Left Hand if he made them sweat. 

"Why would you need our help with something like that? The Jarl here seems fairly interested in maintaining the wealth of his city, that surely includes silversmiths?"

He sighed, fearing she would turn the job down. "Look, I talked to the Jarl, the Steward, the Housecarl... everyone. They all told me their resources were spread too thin right now, especially after that business in the marketplace a while back. Bunch of guards got killed. Word on the street says that the Thieves Guild is coming back into its own in Markarth so I figured..." 

"So you're hiring a thief to retrieve what nobody else will. Makes sense." She folded her arms across her chest, eyes still burning into his face, although he realised she wasn't actually looking him in the eye.

"Exactly. Look, this mould is irreplaceable. I'll pay you well for its return and I can also prove to be quite a valuable ally to the Thieves Guild." 

"Very well. I assume you would like this treated with urgency, although I warn you, if the item was stolen that long ago, there's a chance it's been sold already."

"Yes, indeed. The only thing I can tell you is that the mould was taken to the bandit's hideout... a small cottage called Pinewatch, on the road between Falkreath and… Helgen. I'm not sure how many men they have inside, but I trust that won't be an issue for you. Good luck." 

The Altmer thief nodded, stood, pulled the door open as quietly as possible, and clicked the fingers of her free hand, vanishing from view.

***

Leaving the tavern, she saw Lucien talking to the now-familiar courier - surely a province the size of Skyrim had more than one? Perhaps it was just coincidence… As she approached, Lucien turned, practically fizzing with excitement. "It's a message from Victoria Vici in Solitude - my things have come! Can we go and collect them, please, I'd really rather they didn't stay in that warehouse too long, given what you saw when you, um," he looked over his shoulder at a nearby guard, "inspected it, last month.'

Nerussa linked arms with him and Kaidan, propelling them all out of the city, knowing if they stayed much longer, she wouldn't be able to resist marching up to Ondolemar - assuming he was back at his post, not in deep trouble - and seeing if she could, what was the phrase they used about Ulfric Stormcloak? Ah, yes. "Shout him apart."

When they were outside, she turned to Lucien. "I've actually got a job in Falkreath hold, but why don't you two head straight to Solitude, I'll meet you there tomorrow evening, or the next day."

Both men looked doubtful, but she assured them she had absolutely no intention of getting into any fights. If she could slip past Nocturnal's Sentinels, a group of likely addled bandits should pose no threat. Although, if they could take some of her things, a lighter pack would certainly make it easier...

"Doesn't feel right, being away from you, but it’s your choice. I'll look menacing behind Lucien if anyone tries to take advantage of him with 'extra fees'..."


	102. Chapter 102

Taking a moment to catch her breath after running past the bandits on the bridge - she vaguely wondered if they were the same ones she had seen in Last Seed - Nerussa stood by the rather ordinary-looking cottage. She traced the carved letters on the door. Definitely Pinewatch. As she looked more closely, though, she noticed the wood around the lock was damaged. Interesting.

After listening at the door for a few moments, she pushed it open, gently, and vanished from sight. Inside, it was more obvious there had been some sort of fight, although it was hard to tell how recently. She heard footsteps downstairs, and moved carefully over to the ladder which led down into the cellar. A Nord woman in heavy armour was standing in the centre of the room, drinking from a bottle of what looked like cheap, village wine. Nerussa crept over to the table near where the woman stood, and carefully picked up a note. Addressed to someone named Rhorlak, nothing terribly interesting, other than a mention of ‘behind the shelf’. Sure enough, she could just make out a flickering light behind the large bookcase against one wall. 

Cautiously, recasting her Invisibility spell, she examined the wall near the shelf. One of the stones looked slightly wrong, somehow, and, glancing over her shoulder, she pushed it. Even a drunk Nord could hardly be expected to pay no mind to a heavy wooden shelf, unexpectedly swinging open, with no sign of a fellow bandit emerging from the tunnel, and sure enough, the woman roared in surprised anger and drew her blade. Nerussa cast Invisibility, ran back up the ladder, and slammed the door, casting the spell once more, and slinking back into the shadows. The Nord wasn’t far behind her, but clearly fell for the rather unsubtle ruse, slamming the door open and running outside. Nerussa ignored the door and slipped back into the cellar, making her way down the tunnel and into… Well, well. A Nordic ruin of some kind.

It was easy enough to slip past the bandits, though she was glad of her new Nighteye spell as well as her trusty Invisibility. She did get turned around a few times, trying to work out the layout of the place, but eventually she found herself in what she supposed were living quarters. The bandits seemed disgruntled, but then, when did bandits not? She listened, briefly - apparently their boss was rather paranoid, and had been setting traps to prevent her men from attempting to rob her treasure room. They were, of course, extremely put out by this lack of trust, not to mention the fact that some of the traps really bloody hurt.

Eventually, she found herself in a small, sectioned off area, passing for a bedroom. There was a set of rather decent steel plate armour laid out on a table by the bed, and the woman sleeping in it certainly looked rather formidable, even while fast asleep with her arm wrapped around an extra pillow. Nerussa gingerly crept around the side of the bed, hoping to find a key to the fiendishly difficult lock she had just broken a number of picks in, but of course, that would be too easy. She glanced back at the woman, and sure enough, there was a bump, about the size of an ornate key, in the pocket at the woman’s hip. Slipping on the ring she had found in Mercer’s bedroom - she was unsure quite how strong the enchantment was, but it was a fairly decent ‘deftness’ enchantment, she knew that much - she cautiously slid her hand into the pocket, looping the tip of one finger into the gap in the oversized head of the key, and pulling it gently out. 

The bandit made a surprisingly sweet ‘mrphle’ sort of noise, and Nerussa stifled a giggle as she slipped back down the hall to the locked door. Very serious business, thievery, she reminded herself, sternly. Fortunately, the lock didn’t seem to have been jammed by any of the broken picks, and opened smoothly as she turned the key. On the far side, she was met by a series of traps - not pleasant, but nothing she hadn’t encountered in other ruins, or indeed Mercer’s manor. 

Finally, she was in the treasure room, and it did not disappoint. She counted seventeen gems, including a diamond, half a dozen small and two large gold ingots, a decent amount of coin, and assorted other easily transported, valuable things. Alongside them, she found Endon’s mould, a rather crudely fashioned candlestick - presumably a first attempt by the bandits to make use of the thing - and a somewhat bizarre looking helmet, which almost seemed to be made of Dragon scale. She rather thought Lucien would like it, and considered giving it to him for Saturalia - she was starting to worry, slightly, what to give everyone - but decided she would just offer it to him in Solitude. He deserved a proper present, picked out and paid for, personally.

She packed everything into her new backpack and the pouches she had bought in Markarth, glad of the Feather enchantment on the pack - it didn’t entirely negate the slightly unbalanced feeling of all that gold, but it certainly helped. She had also found another of those curious Stones of Barenziah - that made ten, so far - in a small cupboard in the living quarters. In a matter of minutes, she was back in the cottage, relieved to find that the drunk Nord woman had fallen asleep at her post. 

Outside, the sun was just beginning to set, and she hurried on her way back to Falkreath, where she took a carriage to Markarth. Endon was, as arranged, in the marketplace, where she greeted him effusively, thanking him for meeting her outside his normal working hours to deliver the item she had commissioned. He was initially mildly confused, but caught on, and loudly invited her to his home to meet his wife and daughter. The whole thing was a bit obviously theatrical, but he seemed the type to prefer that sort of thing.

***

"Goodness, are people already preparing for the end of the year? Back home, we didn't see many decorations until the day before Saturalia!" Lucien gazed around at the brightly-coloured strings of lanterns criss-crossing the streets of Solitude as they made their way to the Gallery to hand over some items to Auryen.

"Aye, Skyrim's pretty big on this one. Old and New Life's the really important time, but Saturalia's… Well, probably more fun, eh?" Kaidan didn’t sound as though he, personally, thought so, but Lucien decided to let that slide, for now.

"Oh, I just had the most marvellous thought - there's a very real chance it'll snow, isn't there? It's just a little too warm at this time of year in the Imperial City."

Kaidan shook his head, adjusting the position of his pack, as they entered the upper-class residential district. "What is it with you and snow, eh?"

"Well, snow's _exciting,_ " Lucien exclaimed. Why simply say something, he always thought when you could exclaim it. 

“We’re in Skyrim, it’s always bloody snowing.”

“I know! Isn’t it _great?_ ”

The other man shook his head, and chuckled slightly. “Every day, I understand you less and less.”

“And you love me more and more!” He used his best ‘relentlessly cheerful’ voice for that, then let his tone smooth out a little. "Of course, I have _no_ idea what to give anyone - I left presents for my parents before I came to Skyrim, so that's taken care of, but there's Nerussa, and you, and…" Kaidan held a hand up.

"Don't have to get me anything, Lucien." Lucien turned to him, blocking the doorway.

"Of course I don't _have_ to, Kaidan. I don't _have_ to get presents for anyone. But I want to. I just have no idea what. Do you think Nerussa would like a new backpack? No, she just got that Feather one, didn't she…" Kaidan shook his head, and pushed open the door. 

"Evening, Auryen. Got a few bits and bobs for you."

***

After about as good a night's sleep as she expected on a stone bed, Nerussa pulled up her hood - at least it was prettier than the old ones - and headed to the Keep. She still wasn't sure if Ondolemar was around, but there was no point taking risks, so she had asked the Innkeeper to wake her at dawn. Bastard was even worse in the mornings than she was, so she was fairly sure she'd be fine.

Calcelmo, naturally, was already at his laboratory setup, reviewing his notes and sorting through a box of alchemy equipment.

"Well, isn't this a pleasant surprise! How can I help, youngling?"

"I was hoping you might be able to help me remember how the bloody hell to enchant something…"

“Hmph, you never used language like that before coming to Skyrim, I’m quite sure.” He looked her over, and his eyes twinkled slightly. “It suits you. Come along, I’ll show you the basics, I’m sure it will refresh your memory in no time.”


	103. Chapter 103

“It’s… a hip bone.”

Nerussa nodded, staring at the thing on the table. “I can see that, Lucien.” She prodded it with the tip of her pencil, having given up on trying to sketch the thing in her journal.

“You took _a hip bone_ from some nutter in the street?” 

“Yes, Kaidan, apparently I did. I didn’t _know_ he was going to give me a hip bone when I started talking to him. He just seemed… distressed. And then before I know it, I’m standing in the street, holding a hip bone.”

Kaidan sighed. “Should I ask what you’re supposed to do with it?”

“Visit the ‘Pelagius wing’ of the Palace? Lucien, all those Septims blur together somewhat - which one was Pelagius, again?”

“Ah. He was the, erm. Mad one. Well... the _especially_ mad one, a lot of them were… a few swords short of an armoury, as absolutely no-one says... It’s said he may have been… _influenced_ by Potema, after her death, although that’s probably superstitious nonsense. Probably. Can be hard to be sure, she certainly had a strong presence when we encountered her, didn’t she?” Lucien shuddered, and went on.

“Anyway, he had something of a reputation for actions which went beyond a little eccentricity, and supposedly he was married off to Katariah, later Empress in her own right, in the hopes that she would help him keep his proclivities in check. It didn’t really work, if that was the plan. Of course, there’s numerous, conflicting accounts of events, and over the centuries there’s been more than a touch of wild speculation, much like with all the really _interesting_ rulers. Are you familiar with the Barenziah biographies? Sorry, where had I got up to?”

As Lucien carried on talking, Nerussa picked up a cloth and wrapped the bone in it. She was reluctant to put it in her pack, but she didn’t think Falk was quite friendly enough towards her that she could just walk up to him, brandishing human remains given to her by a madman, and expect to be granted access to a long-sealed part of the Palace. By the sounds of it, whatever the specifics of Pelagius’ story, she needed to be very delicate about this.

Glancing out of the window, she stood, grabbing her pack. “Sun’s not been down long, and I’d rather not spend the night with this in the place. I’m going to head to the Blue Palace, you’re welcome to come with me, if you like…” She looked hopefully at the two men, who exchanged wary glances, but nodded and followed.

***

Glancing warily through the door, Kaidan and Lucien followed Nerussa into the Pelagius Wing. Firebeard hadn’t been keen on the notion, but she had talked him into it. Of course she had, she was getting very good at persuading people. The Wing was cleaner than Kaidan might have expected - gods, did they send those poor little serving-girls in, all the while muttering about hauntings and ‘reminders of his dark rule’? It was still… chaotic, though, furniture and silverware and assorted bric a brac piled with no logic to it, and as they looked around, it became obvious that only the centre of the first room had been cleaned, the rest of the Wing was covered in cobwebs and dust. Kaidan could hardly blame the servants for it.

As they walked through the halls, footsteps echoing, Kaidan noticed Nerussa began tapping her fingers on her thigh. That wasn’t a good sign, and he reached out to give her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, realising too late what was likely to happen. Sure enough, she practically jumped out of her skin. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered, and they pressed on. Nerussa was definitely tense, and he thought he caught those strange words she sometimes ran through, under her breath. Something about someone called “Vera,” maybe, he’d never asked, wasn’t sure she’d be happy to know she did it out loud. 

Suddenly, with no warning, she vanished, her clothes falling, empty, to the floor. 

***

Blinking in the sudden light, and tugging at the unfamiliar clothing she suddenly wore, Nerussa began counting once more. _Para, vera, nata, ehca, nosci…_ There was an odd, grey quality to the light, and yet the place _felt_ absurdly colourful. She was in some kind of clearing, surrounded by strange trees, with dolmens on three sides of the circle - no, that wasn’t right… was it? - marking what looked like paths. In the centre of the clearing stood a table, lavishly laid, at which two men sat, talking nonsensically about… She couldn’t quite focus on what they were saying. Beside the table stood a small, hunched figure, almost frog-like in appearance, gazing expectantly at one of the two men.

She found herself inching closer, unable to take her eyes off the older of the two. He seemed far more animated than the younger man, and well-groomed, to boot. A shock of white hair, slicked back over his head, a well-trimmed beard and… No, she was confused, that couldn’t be right. As she stood next to the table, she could have sworn he had yellow eyes, with snake-like pupils. Perhaps some Beast Folk blood ran in his veins… 

“You’re the best Septim that’s ever ruled! Well, aside from that Martin fellow, but he turned into a Dragon God, which is hardly sporting!” He seemed to be trying to boost the other man in some way, although it did not appear to be working. She was starting to feel light-headed again, and she was glad that neither man appeared to have noticed her, as she braced her hands on the table, taking deep breaths to try and clear her head. The snake-eyed Being was now raving about having “been there for that whole sordid affair,” and listing some nonsensical set of words. Something about a Fox… She glared at one of the trees nearby, which insisted on having a face. Most inconsiderate of it. 

She didn’t appreciate how real the wood felt, although the grain did feel reassuring under her fingertips as they roved over it. Still, she had definitely been trying to convince herself that whatever this was, it was all in her mind, and that was much harder when she was fairly sure her dreams were never quite this… substantial. The other man was talking, now, and he sounded like Mercer, somehow, which couldn’t be right. He sat, head bowed, as Snake-Eyes irritably bid him ‘good day.’ As she watched, a purple glow surrounded him, and when it was gone, so was he.

Snake-Eyes turned to her, an indignant look on his face, and straightened the cuff of his ornate purple and gold jacket. “How rude! Couldn’t be bothered to host an old friend for a decade or two!”

She straightened up, flexing her hands a few times, taking a deep breath. “Hello. Erm. Where are we?” She had a feeling she wasn’t going to like the answer.

“Inside the mind of Pelagius, silly! First time, is it? Tsk, and you don’t even recognise your Auntie Sheo, do ya?”

“Sheo...gorath?” Oghma’s _entire knicker drawer._ She supposed she should have expected it, but…

“And that was Pelagius, I take it?”

“Ah, good, good, you’ve got _some_ brains, then! So, what can I do you for?”

Her hand had found its way back to the table, and her fingertips were tracing the outline of a stud, set into the wood, as she spoke. “I’m here with a message.”

His face filled with delight, and he managed to draw out his “really?” for several heartbeats. “What kind of message? A song? A summons? Ooh, I know - my favourite! - a death threat, written on the back of an Argonian concubine? Well, spit it out, I haven’t got an eternity.” He paused, grinning unpleasantly. “Actually, I do! Little joke. But seriously, what’s the message?” Somehow, the calm look he assumed now was far more frightening than his previous demeanour.

“I think I made a mistake, coming here…” She started to back away, but a cold, firm hand at the small of her back stopped her. She tried not to think about how she could tell it was cold through three layers of clothing.

“Oh, no, no, no! No mistake at all, my girl. What you made, was a _choice_ much like your Senna did when she ruined his - _my_ little bet with Azura, hm?” What? She shook her head, irritably. It was just Sheogorath trying to confuse her. She hated that it was working. “Granted, not a very wise choice, but such is the folly of youth! You know, you remind me of myself at a young age…” For a moment, the Daedric Prince’s face seemed to shift, the features more Elven, the skin glowing golden, younger… She blinked and her vision cleared, the Breton-like face was back, and Sheogorath was speaking again, something about narwhals and honeycomb. 

“Ah, but there I go, waxin’ poetic about my mis-spent youth! Now, where were we… Ah, yes, you’re the mortal messenger! And I am..? Honestly, have you any idea?”

“Yes, you’re… Sheogorath. You said.”


	104. Chapter 104

“She can’t just be _gone_ , Kaidan, that doesn’t make any sense. People don’t just _vanish_.”

“Right, okay, so… Where is she, then? With her clothes missing? Cause she’s not bloody well _here,_ is she?” 

Lucien ran a hand through his hair, trying to think. “I know there used to be spells which… moved people. Teleportation, I believe it was called. They were outlawed as part of the Levitation Act, but there’s no reason it wouldn’t still be _possible_... I had assumed the Psijic Monk who spoke to Nerussa in Saarthal had sent some form of projection, but we didn’t see it, it’s possible he…”

“Are you saying she might have been… taken? _Naked?_ ” Ah. He probably shouldn’t have thought aloud, that was obviously a rather horrifying possibility. He tried to put a reassuring hand on his friend’s arm, but wasn’t surprised when it was shrugged off.

“Well, we shouldn’t jump to any conclusions, but that’s a possibility. It’s also possible she was taken somewhere that the clothes couldn’t come with her - some limitation of the spell, perhaps - by someone totally benevolent, who had prepared a private space and a change of clothes? Look, whatever’s happened, I’m sure she’s fine.” Kaidan was stalking around, checking for hidden trap triggers, by the look of things. Lucien sighed, and joined him.

***

“You’ve headed down the Path of Dreams. Unfortunately for you, Pelagius suffered night terrors from a young age…” Nerussa grimaced, the ugly staff clutched in her hand. She tried to hold it so she couldn’t see its mocking grins from the corner of her eye, but somehow, she still could. She had so far been through two of the Arches, down two paths snaking away from the central clearing. In one she had spent gods only knew how long confusedly aiming the ‘Wabbajack’, as Sheogorath called it, as though _that_ was a name for something, at two versions of Pelagius. The two Pelagiuses - Pelagii? - were fighting, one far larger than the other. His Confidence and his Paranoia. No, that wasn’t right, that was… somewhen else entirely? A confused image of a grinning man in some kind of hideous yellow and black outfit popped into her head…

No, it had been his Confidence and his Anger. In any case, she had been supposed to bring them both to the same size with the Wabbajack, but - much to Sheogorath’s undisguised amusement - she had struggled to even hit the sparring figures. She really needed to work on her aim. By the time she had hit the second, the first had reverted. Eventually, by sheer luck, she had managed to hit them both, a few times, in quick succession. They had seemingly forgotten all about their fight, and wandered off amiably.

The second Arch had led to an arena, where two immense Storm Atronachs - even larger than Thunder - fought. Sheogorath’s voice had echoed in her mind, “defeat your enemy,” eh? She considered the scene. She didn’t think the Atronachs were her enemy, why would they be? Across the arena, she had just been able to make out a throne, flanked by two heavily armoured men. Behind the throne, an ornately-dressed man, his head covered by an ebony helm, stood, observing the fight.

One shot from the Wabbajack missed entirely, but the second struck one of the two bodyguards, turning them both into wolves. Of course, why wouldn’t it? They had turned against the gaudy man, and she had turned away, back down the path. “I didn’t think you’d figure _that_ one out so quickly. Not bad, little Elfling!”

At the end of the Path of Dreams, she came to another clearing. In the centre of this one, a bed. “All you need to do, is find some way to wake poor young Pelagius! You’ll find his terrors easy to repel, but… Persistent.”

She giggled to herself, then stopped when she realised she had no idea why. The Wabbajack was giggling, too. _Silly stick, don’t you know you’re not supposed to do that?_ She wasn’t sure quite what to expect, but it was obvious the Wabbajack was the thing. She shrugged, and pointed it at the figure under the bedcovers.

A puff of pink smoke, and a wolf howled on the far side of the clearing. It ran towards her, snarling, and she panicked, zapping - was that a word? It didn’t sound much like one - the thing with the Wabbajack once more. The wolf was now a goat, which staggered to a halt just short of butting her leg, blinking in confusion. Sleepy-Boy again, then. A big, bad bandit chief appeared, a nice easy target. Now he was a little boy - Pelagius, the voice in her mind said.

 _Zap!_ A Hagraven - no, a young woman, not wearing much more than the feathered monstrosity before her. _Zap!_ A Flame Atronach, and then a nice, toasty bonfire. Perhaps a little melted cheese? _Zap!_ A Dragon Priest - finally, something scary! And now it was a chest. Sure, why not?

“Well, now, that’s something to crow about!” She shuddered, half expecting to see Nocturnal and her corvidae, but no, just a figure of speech… “With Pelagius up and about, you’re moving right along. We’ll both be home in no time!” Back down the Path, then…

***

The two men sat miserably on the floor of the Pelagius Wing. 

“Well, that’s it. We’ve searched this whole damned place. No sign of her, or of who took her. That’s it. We’ve fucked up. She’s gone. We’ve lost the Dragonborn.”

“I mean, I’m not sure there was anything we could have done to _stop_...” He caught Kaidan’s murderous look, and broke off. “Sorry, sorry, not the time. Maybe she’ll be back, soon? She can’t just be gone, forever. She’ll probably come running through that door, any minute… Now?” In spite of themselves, they both stared expectantly at the door back to the rest of the Palace. 

“What are you two looking at?” There was a slightly manic tone to her voice, as Lucien and Kaidan leapt to their feet, both trying to hug her at once, while also trying to examine her for wounds, though the peculiar orange and purple garb and the staff shoved into the back of her breeches made that trickier. She wriggled away, and grabbed both their hands instead. “Come on, come on, we can’t stay here, this place is _weird_.”


	105. Chapter 105

The next day saw an increasingly frantic Nerussa and Lucien, darting around Solitude, trying to pick out Saturalia gifts. Kaidan had just grinned at them both and vanished into the crowd of shoppers, not to be seen again until they met by the carriage late that afternoon.

Nerussa had picked out Äelberon’s present, in theory, a few days earlier. She had been leafing through his Dossier, despondently trying to find some clue as to how they might find him, knowing full well they would not, unless - she hoped _until_ \- he wanted them to. Trying to remember Kaidan's advice - "he'd not have healed properly, stuck in that farmhouse, being mothered by Runa. He needs to be on the move, that one." One of the Appendices had covered ‘interests and hobbies’ - evidently recorded so that relevant merchants could be monitored if a sighting of the Mer was being investigated. She wasn’t sure whether she should even be buying him anything - if he _did_ come back, would he even accept it? See it as more ‘charity’? But she couldn’t resist, and spent far too long choosing the perfect thing in a small, cramped shop near the Treasury House.

She ran into Lucien outside the shop, and he grabbed her arms, a panicked look on his face. ”What can I get for Kaidan? What about _Lydia?_ Should I be giving her anything? Is that wildly inappropriate?” She patted his hand and pointed him in the direction of the local bookshop. She had struggled at first to think what to give Kaidan, and still had no idea what she could give Lydia, let alone ideas for what Lucien could give them, but if nothing else, being surrounded by books ought to calm him down…

 _Damn,_ she hadn’t gone to the bookshop for Lucien’s gift, yet. She sighed and wandered into the bakery. The pretty, red-haired woman who ran the place smiled and greeted her, offering her a mug of warm spiced wine and a piece of her latest confection to try. Well, there were certainly worse ways to while away an hour or two. She hoped that would be enough.

***

They made it to Riverfall Lodge some time in the early hours of the morning, and were relieved to find the crates of Lucien’s belongings had been stacked neatly in the corner of the kitchen. Promising Lucien they would help him unpack first thing the next day, Nerussa and Kaidan made their way upstairs. There was a little awkwardness when they reached the top floor, realising it was the first time they’d stayed in the house since… Well, since things had really begun between them. Kaidan looked unsure, as though he didn’t want to presume anything. She smiled, and took his hand.

***

None of them really felt like finding scrapes to get into for the rest of the time before Saturalia, so they spent a few days unwinding, just pottering around the house. Each of them took a trip into Whiterun on separate days, to finish up their shopping, and the courier ran up to Nerussa with two notes, one from Lydia’s Ma and Da, inviting them, and Hjoromir if he didn’t have anywhere else to be, to Saturalia dinner. The second was from Lydia, and a small postscript after the businesslike update on Curanwe’s transition into her new role - Lydia had stayed in Riften to help with that, as a favour to the Guard Captain - made Nerussa smile broadly. 

Lucien’s belongings were carefully unpacked, filling his bedroom with more life than she would have anticipated. He had ordered a number of bookcases and other furniture to be delivered while they were away, and the shelves were now crammed with books, old journals, bundles of notes, and so on. There were also various mementos of his childhood, and his time at the Arcane University, by the looks of things, and he had decided to pin his map of Skyrim - complete with all his tiny annotations - to the wall over his desk. “I’ll need a new one for navigation, of course, but honestly, this one’s getting a little hard to read in places!”

Pride of place, however, went to the shiny, Dwemer-alloy telescope by the window. Nerussa and Kaidan were both astonished when they looked through the thing - naturally, she had seen them before, back home, but certainly had never been permitted to _use_ them. It was somewhat awe-inspiring to see the stars so much more clearly, and as for the moons… Even just the slivers currently visible were so unfathomably different to what could be seen with the naked eye, and Nerussa found herself counting down the days until they were next full.

On Saturalia morning, they busied themselves, collecting presents from hiding places, and piling them carefully on the rug near the bar, and sitting cross-legged around the pile. The kitchen fire would need extinguishing before they headed to Alfgoll, as Hjoromir was accompanying them, but for now the area just above it was deliciously warm, a certain cold having begun to creep into the edges of the house as the fire had been allowed to die down considerably overnight.

“So, do we take turns, or all just dive for anything with our name on it? Never really… Well, never really celebrated Saturalia before, so I dunno how it’s done.” 

“I must admit, nor have I, as such. We celebrate New Life in Alinor, can’t really abandon that without scrapping the Tamrielic Calendar, and they haven’t quite gone that far, yet. But Saturalia’s, well, a _strictly human_ festival, so it’s banned. There’s usually the odd clandestine drinks party, though. Nobody was remotely interested in Saturalia before the ban, but of course, once you ban something, it becomes Exciting. I didn’t go to a lot of those parties, but Saltar invited me to one, years ago.” She trailed off, blushing a little at the memory of some of the things she’d seen at that party. 

Lucien grinned, picking up the first present. “Well, in _our_ family, at least, the eldest goes first. I suspect that might have been my parents’ little joke, given the lack of siblings. Every year they’d switch out which of them was ‘the eldest’, and I’d be simply dying of excitement by the time it was my turn.” He sighed, happily. “Now, I know it’s not polite to ask a lady her age, but simple mathematics tells me that if you were around during the War, you’re the eldest of us, so here’s your present, Nerussa.”

She laughed. “Do you want to know my age? I don’t mind telling you, you’ve just never asked!” She did feel a tiny bit nervous about telling Kaidan, but she wasn’t about to admit that. 

Kaidan grinned at her, taking a bite of the bread and honey they’d put together as a simple breakfast. “Up to you, though I’ll admit, I’m curious. Though, they do say, you’re only as old as the man you feel.” His grin broadened, a mischievous glint in his eye as he said it.

“Kaidan!” She blushed, and glanced at Lucien, who had gone bright pink. “Well, I’m not sure you deserve to know after that terrible joke, but I’m sixty seven, actually. I’ll be sixty eight in Second Seed.” She returned to unwrapping Lucien’s present, trying not to look up at Kaidan, in case she saw something she wouldn’t like.

“Always did have a weakness for older women,” he said, cheerfully. “What would that be equivalent to, for a human, then?”

She considered the question, not for the first time. “It’s hard to be exact, but I suppose probably late twenties? A little older than Lydia, say. Oh, goodness, Lucien, this is _splendid_ , thank you!” 

The book, handsomely bound in brown leather, with gold foil accents, bore the title _There Be Dragons_. Inside was a small, neat inscription. _“Know thy enemy! From your friend, Lucien Flavius, 4E201”_ Lucien blushed and smiled, and waved at Kaidan to give her his present.

“Thought this might come in handy, now you’ve learned how to use one…” She looked curiously at him, as he passed her a surprisingly heavy parcel, wrapped in soft, violet, woolen fabric, which turned out to be a scarf. Inside was a leather pouch, with an _N_ carved into it. He smiled, and waved at her to open the thing.

Carefully, she emptied the contents into the lap of her skirt. An elongated C-shaped piece of steel, which fit her fingers far more comfortably than Kaidan’s own had. And to go with it, a piece of blue-green stone, which had been chipped away at, so as to provide the right edge to strike against the steel, and set carefully into a pale, smooth, wooden handle, carved with a matching _N_.

“The agate will chip away eventually, but I’ve made the handle so it can come apart and I can replace the stone when needed… I made the handle from a piece of the old Gildergreen tree, they were kind enough to let me take a small piece.” His voice turned shy. “Do you like it?”

She smiled at him, nodding, blinking a little to get rid of the mistiness in her eyes. “It’s perfect, Kaidan. Thank you. You really made these?”

He grinned. “Aye, while you were off getting ready to go and get yourself half-killed. Just as well Lucien was there to keep you safe, or it’d have been a wasted effort, eh?” She rolled her eyes, unable to keep the smile from her lips.

“Oh, I almost forgot, got you a little something else. It’s only the oil this time, harder to get the ingredients at this time of year, Arcadia said.” He handed her a smaller bundle, and her face began to ache when she opened it to find a somewhat larger vial of the same bath oil he had given her before. “Right, Lucien’s the baby of the group, so that means it’s me, next, right, Lucien?”

Lucien frowned. “Drat, I should have told you it was the other way around, shouldn’t I? Yes, it’s your turn, hurry up, here’s yours from me.”

Kaidan smirked and unwrapped his book. “Varieties of Faith? I’m… not exactly a devout man, Lucien, but thank you.” He sounded a little confused, but pleased as well.

“Have a look at the inscription.”

Kaidan opened the book and laughed. “‘In case you want to discuss ‘fairy stories’ some time,’ eh? Thank you, Lucien, I’d like that.” The two men smiled at each other, and Kaidan put the book down, carefully.

Nerussa was nervous, but took a deep breath and handed him her gift. She had spent a couple of hours with Calcelmo, practicing on pieces of scrap metal and cheap rings, before finally enchanting his gift. He held it up to the light, admiringly, she hoped. “It’s engraved with the Lord - I did remember that right, didn’t I? And I enchanted it myself - I’m no good with my hands, but I used to be an all right enchantress. It’s not the strongest enchantment out there, but it should help your stamina…”

He smirked at her, his eyes glinting. “Expecting me to need help keeping up with ya, are you?” His smirk grew wider at Lucien’s reaction. “Dunno what you’re spluttering for, Lucien, I just mean she’s a fast walker. All that, who was it,” he picked up the book and leafed through it quickly. “ _Phine-arster_ stuff?”

Lucien recovered and looked over his shoulder at the page. “Actually, I think it’s pronounced _Phynaster_ , isn’t it, Nerussa?”

Nerussa, looking determinedly down at her presents, willing the blush to settle down, managed an “mmhm, that’s right.”

“Ah, I’m only messing, sweetheart. It’s a fine amulet, and I’m sure the enchantment will come in very useful. Thank you.” He leaned over and kissed her gently, the taste of honey on his lips. “Right, Lucien’s turn!”

The Imperial beamed at both their gifts, a first edition of _Withershins_ from Nerussa, and a carefully chosen archer’s glove and arm guard from Kaidan. 

“You’re getting a lot stronger, Lucien, I figure you’ll be wanting a better bow, soon enough, and you’ll need proper protection for that. Don’t want you losing a finger, not sure those can be Restored.” 

“Thank you, both, these are both such thoughtful gifts. I do actually have… one more thing. I couldn’t decide which of you it would suit better, and, well… I thought perhaps you could share it?” He handed the final parcel to Nerussa. A copy of _Mysterious Akavir_ bound in deep violet leather, with designs reflecting the four Nations of Akavir inlaid in gold and silver. She moved closer to Kaidan, so they could both look through the book, thanking Lucien profusely for his generous gifts.

“Oh, you know me, I lose all impulse control when I’m around books,” he said happily, and headed into his room to get ready for the walk to Alfgoll Farm.


	106. Chapter 106

After dinner, Kaidan looked around at the people he’d found himself spending the first Saturalia he could really remember as a distinct event with. Lydia and Lucien were scaring Lydia’s niblings with The Tale of Orphan Rock, much to the gaggle of kids’ delight. The rest of Lydia’s family - now including Sylgja, of course, Nords really didn’t waste time, after all - were encouraging Hjoromir to join them in a game of cards. And Nerussa… He smiled. 

“Come on, sleepy-head. Think maybe we ought to get you home, eh?” She protested, lulled by the warm fire and a pile of dogs, but eventually relented. They said their goodbyes, and started on the walk back to Riverfall Lodge. The smile on her face as they stepped outside, and the feel of her hand in his were so sweet it ached.

As they crossed the plains of Whiterun hold, they didn’t say much, and for once, he was glad of it. He knew he was brooding, but for once, it didn’t feel like a bad thing. He’d been thinking a lot over the past few days, memories of the last part of the year running through his mind, trying to pinpoint when it had started for him. The thought of her, in that gorgeous dress, heading to the Embassy showed up a lot, and the thought of her returning, dress now ragged and filthy, with the people she had saved from those bastards… But he knew it had been before that. 

Evening talks overlooking the waterfall. The night they’d lain next to each other and he’d… what had she said, ‘shown her the stars’? The night he’d told her about… his past, and she hadn’t spurned him, her eyes shining with compassion, reaching out to reassure him, not taking her hand away even when he admitted… some of what he’d truly started to become, back then. He pushed away the thought that he should tell her more, the fear that he might be risking everything when he did. The first time he’d seen her, on the flats of Eastmarch, a Dragon’s soul swirling around her, dancing over her skin and hair… Mara only knew, perhaps it had started the first moment he looked up in that damned cell, and saw her, his spittle on her boot, confusion and concern in her eyes as she hurried to unfasten his shackles, to free him. 

Whatever it was, he had become undone, and she had brought him back together. He looked around, she had said something, damn it, what had she said? They were almost to Whiterun Stables, and as he looked over at her, he realised - it was snowing. There were snowflakes in her hair and on her eyelashes, and her eyes were shining up at him, as he cupped her jaw in his hand and tilted her head the tiny amount needed for their lips to meet, dipping his head down to close the gap.

***

Some hours later, Nerussa sat up in the bed, a blanket over her shoulders, as much for the weight of it as the warmth. “Yes, Kaidan, I know, but… look, let me show you in my journal…” She got up, crossed the room, acutely aware that his eyes would be on her the whole way, trying not to feel embarrassed, and took the journal from her pack, which had somehow ended up under a pile of their clothes in the doorway of the room. She padded softly back to bed, and snuggled into his waiting arms, paging through the notes at the back. 

Something fell, and before she could snatch it up and tuck it away again, he had picked it up with delicate fingers, and was examining it. 

“Is this… a leaf?”

She nodded, her ears burning. 

“Is it… from Shadowgreen Cavern?” His voice was so soft, so gentle, she could hardly bear it. 

“Actually… it’s from Autumnwatch Clearing.” She turned the pages again, and picked out a second leaf, much smaller, and redder in tone. “This one’s from Shadowgreen.” His arms slipped around her waist, squeezing her, as he kissed her shoulder softly. He sighed into her hair.

“Is everything all right, Kaidan?” She looked around at him, as best she could.

“Ah, it’s nothing.” He briefly met her eyes side-on, gave a rueful grin, and buried his face in her shoulder.

“Oghma’s _tits_ , Kaidan, if you tell me something’s nothing when it clearly isn’t, one more time… You’ve been distracted all day.”

She felt him grin into her shoulder. “Can you blame me? You’ve been on my mind all day. I’ve never wanted someone so much in my life.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re insatiable!” 

He chuckled, and his hand ran lazily over her thigh, raising an eyebrow right back at her. “Oh, I know - _I’m_ the one with the hunger, aren’t I? Though… it’s more than just that.” He paused to draw breath, lifting his head so their gazes could more or less meet. “When I say… I want you, it’s… More than just tasting your lips, or feeling your skin against mine… It’s… What do I want to say?”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she drew in a slightly shaky breath. “You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?”

“That’s just it… I think I _can_ tell you anything. I’ve never known anyone I trust so much. Or had anyone become so… precious to me.” They smiled shyly at each other. “Each morning, I wake up and my first thought is of you, and I… I get this _hope_ I’ve never had before… Maybe I shouldn’t go on.”

She realised she had gone very still, and that he probably thought that meant he’d done something wrong. She nestled back against his chest, lacing her fingers through his, and lifting his hand up to kiss it gently. “Please… Say what you were going to?”

He smiled, his eyes warm as she looked over her shoulder at him. “Nerussa, I’m in love with you. Dunno when it began. Think I may have been… waiting for you my whole life. You’ve carved yourself into my heart, either way, and I don’t see how you’ll ever be moved from there. You don’t have to say anything, I got no expectations. You just wanted to know, and now you do.” He paused a moment. “Erm… Are you crying?”

She nodded, freeing her hand from his, and wiping her eyes - and nose - laughing, turning herself around so she could kiss him, her hands twitching against his shoulders. “I love you, too, Kaidan. I’m just… I’ve never been here before, either. You’ve been so wonderful. I can’t. I don’t know how to… Oh, bloody hell. Sorry, I’m a little overwhelmed.” She sighed in frustration.

“Hey, you don’t ever have to apologise to me for… for how you are, love. I was just worried I might have said something wrong, but… I take it I haven’t?” 

She laughed again, shaking her head. “No, Kaidan, you said everything right. You always say everything right. I told you before, you’re much better at it than me.” He grinned, not looking totally convinced.

He wrapped his arms around her back, pressing her to him. “I want to know that… That you’re _mine._ There’s no one else in the world for me. The thought of someone trying to steal you away from me is…” She couldn’t stop her hands from flapping against his chest, now, the joy of the last few minutes made her feel like she might burst if she didn’t let them. He looked down at her hands, and back to her, smiling, an adoring look in his warm, red eyes.

She drew in a breath, gazing deep into his eyes. “I’m yours, Kaidan. You’re mine. We’re in this together.” 

He smiled, and kissed her gently. “You are blood of my blood, and bone of my bone.”


	107. Chapter 107

“A _ha!_ ”

“Everything all right, Lucien?” Nerussa called down the stairs, waited for a reply, and when none came, she trotted down the stairs, popping her head around the door to her friend’s room.

He was standing by his desk, staring up at the map, a tattered book dangling in his right hand. “Hm? Oh, good morning, Nerussa! Do you remember that amulet you found in Saarthal, in the room with the orb? Well, the name on that writ of sealing has been bothering me ever since, and I finally found it! Look,” he put the book carefully on the desk, and pointed to the page he had been reading. “‘Gauldur’s three sons fled into the night…’ And then a few pages later, one of them is thought to have been ‘run aground’ somewhere in the northeast - that would be Saarthal. Well, look,” he flipped the pages, muttering under his breath as one tore ever so slightly from the binding, “ _Folgunthur_ , at the foot of Solitude. Another of the brothers is supposed to have taken refuge there, and he never left the place alive. Nothing on the location of the third brother, but perhaps we could try and find this Folgunthur? Maybe we’ll find more clues...”

“Detective Lucien, eh?” She grinned at him. “Sounds good, it’s been nice having a few days off, but I’ll admit I’m getting restless. I’m taking Lydia and Sylgja to show them their wedding present, today, but we could certainly head over that way tomorrow, if Kaidan’s up for it.”

***

“My Thane, this is far too generous. I truly appreciate it, but we can’t…” Sylgja elbowed her wife.

“We absolutely can, Lydia. It’s extremely kind of Nerussa to do this for her, let’s just be grateful, shall we?”

Nerussa grinned. “Sylgja is exactly right. It’s close enough to Riverfall that you can still take care of your duties there, and close enough to Whiterun that Sylgja can walk in when you’re off somewhere with me, and take the carriage to visit her parents if she’d like to. Besides, I don’t think Avenicci would let me sell the place back to him, and I certainly have no other use for it!”

Lydia’s lips twitched into a smile, and she clasped Nerussa’s forearm. “Then I’ll just say thank you. I may need to speak to the Jarl about increasing my wages, although I don’t think Sylgja would want to be a ‘kept woman’, would you, love? But perhaps there’s some work she could find at the Meadery, or one of the farms.”

Sylgja wrapped her arm around the taller woman’s waist, leaning her head on her wife’s shoulder. “I’ll find something, yes. Truly, Nerussa, thank you. You’ve given us a wonderful start in our life together.”

Nerussa blushed, and waved them into the house, promising to meet up with them for a drink in Whiterun on Old Life.

***

The ferryman rowed quickly away after taking them across the harbour to the northwest tip of the marsh. The book hadn’t exaggerated, as it turned out - Folgunthur really did lay in the shadows near the bottom of the arch atop which the Blue Palace stood. An abandoned camp outside the crypt’s entrance held a journal, written by someone called Daynas Valen - a Dunmer, clearly. It seemed he had travelled from Anvil very early in the year, and made a beeline for Folgunthur, seemingly in search of the same thing as them - Nerussa and Lucien had collected the amulet she had taken from Jyrik Gauldurson’s remains from the Gallery, and spent the morning examining it. Sure enough, it appeared that the pendant - a piece of carved bone of some kind - had been removed from another piece altogether, there were clear signs of damage, smoothed over by an inexpert hand. 

“Well, if he left this journal here, I think there’s a decent chance he didn’t make it back out, don’t you?” Lucien examined the remains of the campsite, mouldering tents and a few personal belongings scattered among them. “The other gear, a Mer like that might well have not bothered with, but if he burned all his other notes, I doubt he’d have intentionally left this behind - most likely, it fell out of his pack before he entered the crypt.”

Inside, they found the corpse - Nerussa wasn’t sure whether it was a good or bad thing that she no longer retched at the sight - of someone who had failed to notice a rather obvious trap. After some time, they found the remains of Daynas Valen himself, a pack nearby holding the ivory claw mentioned in both his journal and the notes they found tucked beneath it. 

“I’d say he fell to a trap relating to that claw-keyhole next to him, except he hadn’t even taken the claw out. Maybe the Draugr got him before he could do so?” Lucien frowned as he read the notes. “Ah, it looks like the other site we need to locate is… Oh, goodness. That must be the island just outside Ivarstead, look. ‘A tomb built on the lake which still bears his name.’ Kaidan, that’s Lake Geir, isn’t it?” The Akaviri nodded. “Well, that’s certainly something to bear in mind, next time we’re over that way!”

Inserting the claw into the keyhole caused a narrow drawbridge to lower, enabling them to cross and continue into the ruin, although Nerussa insisted on Whirlwind Sprinting across, to reduce the risk of the bridge snapping under the sudden weight of three people crossing it. Eventually, after the usual irritating, but not challenging, series of Nordic ‘puzzles’, they found themselves facing Mikrul Gauldurson. He didn’t appear to have any special powers, nor was he being assisted by… whatever the thing in Saarthal had been - she really ought to stop by the College soon and see if they’d managed to move that, yet. 

She was still rather proud of how quickly they took him down, retrieving the second piece of the amulet, and taking his sword for Auryen. Judging by Valen’s notes, the third brother would be a rather more formidable opponent, but for now, they would head back to Solitude and spend the night in the Safehouse. She quickly grabbed her journal and made a note, in large letters, to track down a Waterstride spell tome.

***

As they were leaving Solitude the next day, the Courier ran up to Nerussa, looked around carefully, and gave her a big hug, at which she nearly jumped out of her skin. “It’s so good to finally meet you, future sister in law,” he said in a loud voice, before dropping to a whisper. “Terrible ruse, I know, but the client didn’t give me much to work with. Check the satchel on your left when you pass Dragon Bridge.”

They had been planning to take the carriage, but Thaer had already set off to Markarth. It was a sunny day, so they decided to walk down past Dragon Bridge, and check the satchel on the road to Whiterun. Just as well, because the note the Courier had slipped into her possession gave a brief set of directions from Karthwasten with no further information. It was dated the 30th of Frostfall. Nerussa tried not to think scathing thoughts of how Delphine had survived this long, and they turned to walk back the way they had come, when she heard a small whining sound.

Peering into the undergrowth between the trees, she could just make out a small shape. A dog? She indicated to the men to wait, and crept slowly forward. The dog, seeing her attention had been caught, took off between the trees, and she chased after him. Soon they arrived at a small wooden hut, and the dog pulled at the hem of her skirt, pulling her toward the doorway. 

Inside, on a bed topped with straw and furs, she saw what she supposed was the body of the dog's owner. The poor animal obviously thought she would be able to help, but it was at least a day too late. She picked up a thin journal on the shelf by the bed. Mostly notes about hunting and the like. At the end, a simple note that he thought he had Rockjoint, and no expectation of a cure. The dog's name was mentioned. Meeko. 

"Hello, Meeko. I'm terribly sorry, but I don't think your master will be waking up. Would you like to come with me and my friends? We've got another dog, so you wouldn't be lonely…" The scruffy little dog - half the size of Vigilance, if that - whined softly at first, but allowed her to scratch him behind the ear, and followed when she turned to go.

"You're back to collecting dogs, then? Fair enough. So, off to Karthwasten, is it?"


	108. Chapter 108

“Ah, Delphine, isn’t it?” Lucien held out a hand, which the Breton woman glared at.

“Do you need something?”

Lucien cleared his throat. “Oh, no, not at all! I just don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced. My name is Lucien Flavius!” He paused for a moment. “Do you have a surname? Or is it just ‘Delphine’? Or is that even your name at all? Ooh, is it a secret spy alias?” The Breton shifted her glare to his face, and he backed away slightly.

“Mind your own business.” 

He winced. “Ah, I’m terribly sorry, of course. Apologies if I… touched a nerve. I just hoped we could talk a little.”

“We’ve got nothing to talk about.” 

“Ah, yes, I… suppose not. Well, then… lovely to meet you.” A little acid crept into his tone as the woman walked away from him. “Charmed, I’m sure…” 

They had met up with Esbern and Delphine in, of all places, a dress shop. Nerussa had been fairly sure they had the wrong place, but a rather strong-looking merchant waved them down the stairs, where the two Blades - former Blades? - waited. After a brief explanation, they had set off to this ‘Sky Haven Temple’ Esbern had spoken of. Kaidan was… quiet. Understandably, she supposed. They were on their way to an old Akaviri building, after all. Lucien had more or less jumped for joy at Esbern’s words, she thought, fondly. 

After Lucien’s attempt at conversation, as they approached the place where Delphine indicated they would need to cross the water, they heard a deafening roar, as an enormous, dark shape moved lazily into view ahead. For a moment, she thought it was Alduin, but no, it was much smaller than him, just seemed bigger in the cramped valley they stood in.

She was shocked to find she was almost irritated by the thing. The fight was over quickly, between the five of them - it was a Frost-breath Dragon, so her and Lucien’s Fire and Shock magicks weakened it considerably - and the most notable thing was likely Esbern’s quiet nod of approval as he watched her absorb the slain Dragon’s soul. _Bit mad, that one_ , she thought, _but not nearly as annoying as Delphine._ She still wouldn’t fancy fighting a Dragon by herself, but they were… almost underwhelming, somehow. She suspected there would be stronger ones to come, though.

***

After fighting through a Forsworn encampment - she made a mental note to set fire to the flimsy structures as they left, then realised that actually, it was probably worth leaving them for more Forsworn to take over, slow down any Thalmor that tried to storm the place - they left Meeko in what Nerussa hoped was now a safe place just inside the cave, and walked through a narrow passage under the mountain, which opened into a wider space which somehow was open to the sky. Nerussa climbed a short set of steps, to where three stone pillars stood. Esbern was saying something about the symbols on them, but she found herself reaching out, pushing the two which had… the wrong symbols. That was better, now they all matched - she vaguely heard Esbern say this was the symbol for Dragonborn. That made sense. Of course. She crossed the drawbridge which lowered as the last symbol was corrected, feeling slightly dizzy.

They all crowded into a small space on the edge of a floor, tiled with more of the same symbols, each stopping just in time to avoid stepping out onto the floor, which was obviously trapped, even in her current state. She glanced around, sent a couple of balls of Mage Light across the floor to be certain. She looked at Esbern and Delphine, who were looking expectantly at her. Did they really not see? She sighed, and almost skipped across the path of Dragonborn symbols to the pillar on the far side. Still, perhaps it wouldn’t have worked for them. She beckoned them to follow, and they crossed another stone bridge, walked through another narrow passage, Nerussa and Kaidan having to duck at some points.

Her breath caught, and she grabbed Kaidan’s hand for support, as they moved into the immense, open-skied space ahead. There was some kind of great stone circle set into the floor, and as they approached, Esbern started muttering again. She tried not to stare at the stone head, easily twice her own height, set into the wall ahead.

“Ah, here’s the Blood Seal. Another of the lost Akaviri arts… No doubt triggered by, well,” he looked across the circle at Nerussa. “Blood. Your blood, Dragonborn.”

Kaidan put an arm around her, steadying her, and she briefly leant her head on his shoulder. Esbern and Delphine were watching her again. She stepped forward, out of the safety of his arms, and pulled off her left glove.

Behind her, she heard Lucien babbling excitedly. “Just look at this place! I’m taking notes of _all_ of this! My colleagues back at the Imperial City will be beside themselves with envy!” She smiled, and remembered as well the feeling of Kaidan’s arm around her. She still didn’t like any of this, but she would do it, for them, and for Lydia, and all the rest, Senna, and Lucien’s parents, and Äelberon, and Runa, and Da...

She looked around. Oh, yes. The blood seal. They probably all thought she was too afraid. She realised she didn’t have a blade, and held her hand out for someone to pass one. Kaidan stepped forward. His voice soft, heavy with emotion, he knelt beside her. “May I..?” She met his eyes. Nodded just a little. He drew his hunting knife - the sword might have felt more symbolic, but a little unwieldy at such close quarters, she found herself thinking - and took her hand gently, reverently. He held it up to his lips, his eyes flicking wickedly up to hers, then lowered it. “Blood of my blood…”

“And bone of my - ow! - bone.” The blood welled up from the tiny incision in her palm - certainly more precise than she would have managed if she’d try to do it herself - and dripped down onto the seal. She caught sight of his eyes again, the red in them matching her own blood so exactly, and then they were both scrambling backwards, a sudden intense light emanating from the centre of the seal. As they got to their feet, she heard a scraping sound, similar to the stone doors in some ruins, but so much louder. As she looked on, the great stone head was… raising, revealing a set of stone steps.

“After you, Dragonborn. You should have the honour of being the first to set foot in Sky Haven Temple.”


	109. Chapter 109

“As I live and breathe… We’re actually standing in an Akaviri temple!” Kaidan’s voice was soft, his lips close to her ear. “We should take the chance to explore it, find out what’s been left behind…” She smiled at him, realising just before she attempted to squeeze his hand that he’d put his gauntlet back on. She settled for a light kiss on the cheek, ignoring Delphine’s glare. 

The space was… Extraordinary. The architecture was so different to anything she had seen before - dark, carved stone walls and pillars, much finer than any Nord ruin, though the stone was clearly of the same type. The centre of the room was dominated by a long, low table, carved of the same stone, with a sculpted Dragon’s skull, so realistic that at first she thought it was genuine. Beyond it lay a smaller stone structure, perhaps the size of one of the smaller houses in Whiterun, with an ornate, curved roof, and more pillars on each corner. To the right of that, she could just make out a wide, low, carved wall. She could hazard a guess what that might be.

Lucien and Esbern were the last up the stairs, having stopped to inspect some of the original Akaviri wall carvings. Nerussa might well have joined them, but she could tell Kaidan was feeling… Just, a lot of things, she supposed. So, she stuck by him. Lucien bounded up to her, beaming, glancing around as he spoke. “This is it! Sky Haven Temple! Who knows what secrets we’ll find in here?”

Kaidan patted his shoulder, and grinned down at him. “Come on, best not let Esbern get too far ahead, I don’t think he’ll notice if we’re not in earshot, way he’s carrying on…”

“...Never seen a finer example of early second era Akaviri sculptural relief…” Esbern had lit a torch and was walking slowly - a little awe-struck, going by his voice - toward Alduin’s Wall. 

“Esbern! We need information, not a lecture on art history!” Now, that was a familiar tone. Delphine, who had been poking around in a small side room filled with old chests, now raced to catch up to the Nord. 

“Hm? Oh, yes… Yes. Let’s see what we have here.” The group moved close to Esbern’s torch, the light flickering on the ancient carvings. Kaidan had slipped off his gauntlet again, and took Nerussa’s hand. She squeezed, tightly. “Look, here is Alduin,” he held the torch in front of a great, carved Dragon, very different to Nordic representations, she thought. The Dragon was almost serpent-like, its wings far less integral to the depiction, though it did have great, powerful back legs. She heard Lucien mutter something to similar effect, and smiled. 

“This panel, of course, goes back to the beginning of time, when the Dragon Cult ruled over Skyrim…” The flickering light cast fearsome shadows across the stone surface, as he walked slowly to the next point of interest. “Here, the humans rebel against their Dragon overlords - the legendary Dragon War.” Kaidan whistled through his teeth.

“Alduin’s defeat is, naturally, the centrepiece.” This part was harder to see clearly, the torchlight not really reaching the full height of the piece, but he continued, apparently already having had some idea what he would see. “You see, here he is - falling from the sky. The Nord Tongues - martial masters of the Voice - are arrayed against him.” He stood, lost in thought, rubbing his beard as he stared at the robed human figure in front of him.

“So, does it show _how_ they defeated him? Isn’t that why we’re here?” Delphine’s exasperation even seemed to get through to Esbern, that time.

“Patience, my dear. The Akaviri were not a straightforward people.” He had turned to face Delphine, but his eyes - predictably, she supposed, he doubtless knew much about Akaviri physiology - strayed to Kaidan’s face as he spoke. He turned back to face the wall. “Everything is couched in… Allegory, and mythic symbolism.” He lapsed back into examining the stone, then turned back to them, his eyes shining. “Yes, yes! Look, here, coming from the mouths of the Nord Heroes. This is the Akaviri symbol for Shout - Kiai in their tongue. But… There’s no way to know _which_ Shout is meant.” His shoulders slumped a little, and he scratched his beard thoughtfully as he bent to examine the carving more closely.

“You mean, they used a Shout to defeat Alduin? You’re _sure?”_

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Presumably something quite specifically designed to affect Dragons, or perhaps Alduin in particular. Remember, this is where they recorded all they knew of Alduin, and of his return.”

Delphine turned to Nerussa, eyeing her. “You ever heard of such a thing? A Shout that can… What, knock a Dragon clear out of the sky?”

“Not in any of the books I’ve managed to find, no. Perhaps the Greybeards would know of something?”

Delphine grimaced. “Yes, you’re probably right. I was hoping not to need to involve them any further, but it seems we have no choice.”

Nerussa fought the urge to rub her temples, and Kaidan gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “What do you have against the Greybeards? I haven’t had much involvement with them, but they seem… benevolent.”

Delphine rolled her eyes. “Benevolence doesn’t win wars, Dragonborn. If they had their way, you’d do nothing but sit up on their mountain, talking to the sky, or whatever it is they do. The Greybeards are so… Afraid of power, that they refuse to use it. Think about it. Have they done anything about the Civil War, much less Alduin? No. They’re afraid of you - of your power. Trust me, there’s no need to be afraid. Think of Tiber Septim. Think he’d have founded an Empire, if he’d just listened to the Greybeards?”

Nerussa fought to stay calm, her hand held tightly in Kaidan’s. Not the _best_ example to bring up to an Altmer - the present Aldmeri Dominion were… Were a shower of bastards, obviously, but their existence was partly made possible by the things Tiber Septim had subjected the Isles to, in the process of building his Empire. Still, none of this was anything she wished to say to Delphine, and she certainly did not wish to appear weak in front of the… _jumped-up little bitch_... woman. She held her head up straight, drawing herself up to her full height, towering over the Breton.

“I do not fear my own power.” 

The Blade nodded. "Good. The Greybeards can teach you a lot, but don't let them turn you away from your destiny. You're Dragonborn, and you're the only one who can stop Alduin. Don't forget it."

“I suppose I should return to High Hrothgar, then. See if Arngeir knows anything of this Shout.” 

“Good thing they’ve already let you into their little cult,” Kaidan’s hand twitched at that word, and she remembered their conversation, what felt like forever ago, about the Blooded Dawn. She stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to have shown anything on his face, and Delphine continued with no sign of noticing anything amiss. “Not likely they’d help Esbern or me, if we went to pay a call. We’ll look around this place, see what else the old Blades may have left.” She looked around the hall, no sign of the wonder that the rest of the group all clearly felt, purely calculating. “It’s a better hideout than I could have hoped for. Should have seen some of the places we’ve been, the past few weeks…”

She turned to walk away, then looked back over her shoulder. “Talos guard you…”

For a few minutes, they all stood in silence, before Esbern approached the final section of the Wall. 

“The Prophecy which brought the Akaviri to Tamriel in the first place, in search of the Dragonborn.” He beckoned the three of them over, holding his torch up again. “Here are the Akaviri, who became the Dragonguard of Reman Cyrodiil - precursors to the Blades. You see their distinctive longswords. This design was of course replicated by the Blades even until… Well.” He paused for a moment, then moved his torch. “Now, here, they kneel, their ancient mission fulfilled, as the Last Dragonborn,” he turned to face Nerussa for a moment, “that’s you, my dear - I’m sorry, I have forgotten your name. Delphine will remind me later, I am sure. As the Last Dragonborn contends with Alduin, at the End of Time.”

He turned to bicker with Delphine, and Nerussa leaned against Kaidan for support. Lucien’s hand rested gently on her other arm, and she smiled at them each in turn. There had certainly been… Well, the question had come up in their research, and Esbern had muttered something about that in his room in the Ratway, but… To hear it put so frankly, and with him seeming at least somewhat less… Disturbed, today. It was... Overwhelming. 

Lucien was the first to speak, as Esbern and Delphine both wandered off.

“This place is incredible! The sheer history here, the mind boggles at how much we could learn…” He glanced around, then back to Nerussa. “It would mean a lot to me if I could have a couple of hours to properly study all of this - perhaps you and Kaidan could see what’s up those stairs, with luck, there might be a terrace, like the one at Cloud Ruler Temple in Cyrodiil. I’ll just make a few notes, a sketch or two… That sort of thing. Do you mind?”

She smiled, still feeling a little unsteady, but quietly proud that she hadn’t run from the place, like she had from High Hrothgar. “Of course, Lucien. Take as long as you need.” He smiled, and began digging in his pack for a fresh notebook.

As she and Kaidan walked to the stairs he had mentioned, she heard Lucien’s voice float over. “Yes… and this carving represents… I see, fascinating… Fascinating! And what about…”

Sure enough, the doors at the top of the stairs led onto a terrace - more of the same architectural flair, and what had clearly once been a beautifully cared-for garden. She found herself imagining the place, thousands of years ago, filled with dark-haired, red-eyed people, and life, the terrace in full bloom. She turned to Kaidan, his eyes shining down at her.

“How are you feeling, Kaidan?”

He smiled, sheepishly. “To own the truth, a little like I think you did, just then. How about you, sweetheart? You doin' all right after, y'know. With the blood? Was it all right that I... stepped in? I just... It felt right.”

She smiled back at him, and moved forward, his hands moving so tenderly to her elbows, her own hands on his chest. "Mmhm, I think so. Thank you. Probably would have cut my hand open if I'd tried... Well, I expect they presume the Dragonborn will be proficient at that kind of thing. And yes, it... It felt right." 

He nodded, a look of relief on his face. “Good, that’s… That’s good.” He glanced around. “Beautiful place this, eh? Can really see myself…” He blushed, and for once she decided not to push him. “Well, anyway. Like to see some plants up here, though, aside from that one juniper bush. Bloody hardy, those things.”

“Sure you don’t want to look around inside a bit more? We’ve got time. Lucien will probably work until the moons are up…”

“Aye, in a bit. Just want to… Well.” He grinned, his eyelids heavy as he moved his hand to the back of her hair, so gently, so sweetly. “Just want to spend a little time out here, with you. If that’s all right?”


	110. Chapter 110

The marketplace of Whiterun was bustling. The stalls had closed for the festival of Old Life, but tables had been brought out of the tavern, holding drinks for the crowd which waited for the bonfire to begin. 

Nerussa and Kaidan walked through the crowd, looking for Lucien - the Imperial had left Riverfall before they were even dressed, a cheery "see you in the city!" floating up the stairs. Everyone was in their best clothes, by the look of it, richer colours and fabrics than they usually saw in Whiterun, for certain, which made it a little harder than usual to single out their friend. They finally spotted him, coming down the steps of the Bannered Mare, carrying a tankard of fresh milk. Apparently the drinks on the tables weren't really to his taste.

The sun had begun to set as they were leaving Riverfall, and the children were getting impatient. Even little Lucia, who slept in the kitchen of the tavern and spent her days begging by the Gildergreen, had a new scarf over her heavily patched dress. She ran up to Kaidan, and proudly announced she had been taken on as an apprentice by Hulda. Nerussa raised an eyebrow and went to speak to the woman.

"Well, I couldn't keep letting the poor child beg in this weather, any more than I could keep letting her sleep behind the Mare when I found her out there. She's been scrubbing pots and making beds. Don't tell her, but I've got a bed arriving for her tomorrow - Divines know where we'll fit the thing, but… well. Terrible shame, what happened with her family." 

Nerussa patted the Nord woman on the arm, and smiled. “That’s good to hear.” She moved back through the crowd to Kaidan and Lucien. As she slipped into Kaidan’s embrace, running her fingertips over the bumpy pattern on the soft, woolen jumper Runa and Da had made for him as a Saturalia gift, a voice carried across the chattering crowd. 

“Good evening, people of Whiterun! The bonfire is about to be lit! Please, join us, and give thanks to Kynareth and the other Divines for the past year.”

The crowd gradually moved up the steps to the place where the Gildergreen had once stood. An immense pile of wood - almost matching the bonfires they had seen at Giant camps - now took its place, the kindling smouldering away beneath it. Soon, the bonfire was a roaring blaze, warming the front of her as she faced it, leaving her back feeling chilled, in a curiously pleasant way. Not so pleasant that she wasn’t happy when Kaidan wrapped his arms around her again, of course. As the evening wore on, the adults told increasingly tall and terrifying tales, to the utter delight of the children, all of whom insisted they were wide awake, though the littler ones could occasionally be seen rubbing their eyes, surreptitiously.

“I would have thought Äelberon would be back by now…” She spoke almost to herself, but Kaidan tightened his arms around her just a little.

“He’ll be back, love. Don’t fret, so. I told you before, he just needs to heal in his own way. He’s a proud Elf, that one, and has every right to be, by all accounts. You’ll see him again, soon.” He brushed the loose strands of hair that had escaped her braid out of the way, and kissed her cheek, gently. She sighed, and hoped he was right. 

Later still, Danica announced a display of fireworks. “Seen those before, love? They can be a bit noisy…” She smiled over her shoulder at him.

“Thank you for the warning, but yes, we had quite a lot of fireworks displays in Alinor. I always loved the lights, but had to cover my ears, or watch from inside. I’ve had a little wine, tonight, though, and I’ve got your arms around me. I think I’ll be all right.” 

He smiled back at her. “Fair enough. If you need to leave, though, just say the word and we’ll head home, eh, Lucien?”

“Absolutely - they’re pretty, but not worth forcing yourself to stay if you feel bad!” 

Nerussa wrapped her arm around Lucien’s shoulders. “Thank you. Both of you. I’m very lucky to have found a friend like you, Lucien. And, well.” She put her hand over Kaidan’s, his arms still around her waist, and squeezed. “I’m very lucky.”


	111. Chapter 111

"Wow, Auntie Hulda, you're the best!" Lucia threw her arms around the innkeeper's waist, and rushed upstairs to see her new bed. Hulda felt guilty about letting the girl think it was her who bought it, but he had insisted… Ah, and here he was, now.

"Good day, Lordship. What are you treading into my floors today? Oh, don't look so abashed, I'm teasing - I'm sure the hold is far safer for it."

The Elf grinned sheepishly, no doubt thinking of all the times he had apologised a little more profusely than she thought necessary, certainly far more than any of the other mercenaries who showed up in the Mare. "Usual room, is it?" She couldn't help noticing, again, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, though she was pretty sure she'd be on a hiding to nothing with that one. Didn't seem the type for a quick bunk up.

"If it is free, Publican? I shall need the key for the bathing room, as well, once I have deposited proof of my night's work with your Jarl's steward."

She nodded, and took the coin - exact, as always - that he offered her. She leaned over the bar, doing her best to ignore the unsettling shape of the sack at his feet, and was rewarded with the sight of his dog - a finer animal than any she had seen in Skyrim - head pressed into his master's leg. "Got some nice venison for your hound, too…"

He smiled fondly down at the animal. Just then, Hulda heard a commotion on the balcony above. Lydia and her new bride had just gone up to join the young Thane and her friends, not long before the Elf had arrived. She squinted up, but couldn't really make out what was happening.

***

It was all Nerussa could do to stop herself trying to vault over the balcony - perhaps her new found acrobatic confidence was going a little _too_ far. Damn it, she had to get downstairs before he left! 

Shortly before, Vigilance had started to wuff, excitedly, and she had looked to see what was catching his attention. At first, she had thought it was just some hooded mercenary with a dog, but then she looked closer at the dog - couldn't see his head, but the bright white and soft grey and black of his fur, and the fluffy tail, wagging enthusiastically as Hulda leaned over the bar, were a dead giveaway. Koor!

She scrambled to her feet, flashed a reassuring grin at her startled companions, and raced down the stairs, throwing her arms around Äelberon.

"I'm rather dirty, Nordling…"

She pulled back, pulling a face. "You _are_. Oh, well, too late, now. Anyway, I'm in my scruffy clothes for the planting. You missed it! You missed so much!" She flung her arms around him again, and he chuckled, wrapping his arms around her. 

She felt him rest his cheek on her head for a moment, and heard him whisper an apology into her hair, followed by a gentle, almost fatherly kiss on the top of her head. She squeezed him as best as she could, hoping he could tell through all the armour he had on. She pulled back. "Where did you get this?"

He looked down, and back up to her, that familiar twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "Came out of a number of vampires! Ah, you are referring to the armour? Rather more prosaic, I am afraid. I worked it at the forge, like any other armour."

She rolled her eyes, finally ending the hug. "I got you a present for Saturalia, you know. I thought… Well, I hoped you might turn up. Oh, I should have brought it! Well, there's nothing else for it, you'll have to come home with us…" She caught up to herself and looked down at the sack by his feet. "Well… after you've finished with… that?"

His expression was hard to read at first, but as she looked up at him, his face softened once more. "I would be glad to accept, Nerussa." He looked around, then back to her. "First, I must take this sack up to Avenicci at Dragonsreach, and I will need to bathe first. I could most certainly not accept your kind hospitality covered in," he gestured at his gore-splattered chest, "this. Would you be willing to wait?"

She smiled up at him, noticing he was looking much healthier than he had in Rorikstead - Kaidan had clearly been right. His face had lost the gauntness, he looked much more like he had at the Vampire Symposium, with the addition of a rather charming flush from the cold weather. He was probably fortunate none of the local women were in the tavern for an afternoon drink.

"Of course, although you'd be more than welcome to bathe at my house. I must warn you, the house is very _Nordic_ , but I am very happy there." She felt herself blush, a little.

He chuckled. "Oh, youngling, have you forgotten about my time in Bruma? Very Nordic is not something you need warn me about!"

***

By the time Nerussa and the others had finished their drinks and pastries, Äelberon had returned from Dragonsreach. Nerussa had expected to have to talk him into agreeing to bathe at Riverfall, but he had not put up any opposition. He spoke quickly to Hulda, collecting his belongings, and joined them by the door.

"I do have one more errand to run, Nordling, but it is without the city gate, and should not slow us too badly. You will be amused, no doubt - I have fallen in love!"

She blinked, and waited for the others to get out of earshot. "But… Ebonnayne?" His eyes grew sad, and she wished she could take the words back.

"Ah, youngling. That is not a topic we should discuss in the marketplace. Perhaps later we could share a smoke, if you partake?"

She grimaced at the memory of attempting to hold smoke in her chest. "I've never quite got used to the feeling, but I'll gladly pour myself a cup of spiced wine and join you. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…"

He waved away the apology. "Do not fret, youngling. Now, there is someone you must meet. Her name is Alfsigr, although privately, I call her Allie..." His face was serious, though as she looked a little more carefully, she caught that twinkle again, and perhaps just a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth, framed by his beard, which she was pleased to note was much better kept now.

They hurried to the city gate, catching up with the others. As they passed Maiden-Loom Manor, he grew animated once more, and asked the group to wait a moment, telling Nerussa to close her eyes. She dutifully did so, still too pleased to see Äelberon to care over much what people might think of the Thane standing in the road, eyes shut, holding hands with a tattooed, red-eyed man. They were probably used to her, anyway, by now.

 _Alfsigr..._ Well, he had said Nordic was no problem for him... But who was she? Goodness, she wasn't a relative of Lilith Maiden-Loom, surely? She hoped not, that family were too close to the Black-Briars for comfort. Finally, he returned, his hand on her arm. 

In a very serious tone, he addressed her. "You may open your eyes, Nerussa, I would like to introduce you to Alfsigr."

The moment she opened her eyes, she burst out laughing. Of course! _Queen_ Alfsigr, the beautiful, ever so slightly intimidating horse that Skulvar Sable-Hilt had been trying to get rid of for months - a fine, strong horse, but too high-spirited for most Nords.

Thankfully, the horse took her reaction in her stride, and accepted Nerussa's hesitant pat with good graces. 

Äelberon grinned, pleased at the success of his joke. "Now, Nordling, I believe I am overdue for a bath… Is there somewhere I can stable Allie near your home, or should I leave her here?"

"Oh, don't worry about that, there's somewhere."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Äelberon's back!! Just in time to share the first chapter of Straag Rod, his own story, by the excellent Skyrimnut:
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/25388701/chapters/61565236
> 
> Thanks once more to Skyrimnut for letting me borrow Äelberon, and for collaborating with me on chapters featuring him!


	112. Chapter 112

"You go on inside, younglings, I need to ensure Allie is properly bedded down, and clean my armour before I enter your lovely home." Äelberon had ridden from Whiterun, looking more natural in the saddle than she had seen any Altmer - possibly any person. Koor had been very excited to meet his new "big sister" and had followed close behind her, clearly having experience to know just how far from her hind legs was safe.

Her first instinct was to protest at a guest feeling they needed to do all that themselves, but she pushed it down, knowing Äelberon would not see it the same way. "Very well, we will make a start on dinner. Well, Kaidan and Lydia, mostly. I can do very basic stuff like "put a piece of fish in a pan and turn it over", but that's about it!" 

“That is far better than I. You do not want me in a kitchen, save to make tea.” He dismounted and led the horse across the bridge to the small stable, and the rest of them went inside, sending the dogs upstairs, out of the kitchen. As Nerussa took her boots off, Lydia went into the root cellar for vegetables, and Kaidan set to preparing the chickens they had bought in the market, removing the innards and cutting away the spines so they could be lain flat on a large oven tray. Lydia set a pile of potatoes in front of Lucien, and carrots in front of Nerussa. "Peeling and chopping duty, Lucien, and if you could chop those, my Thane? Hjoromir's day off, and all. I'll do the onions, over here."

Nerussa nodded, and set to work. They had eaten meals like this before, so she knew the chopping didn't need to be too perfect, so long as the pieces were around the same size. After some time, Äelberon opened the kitchen door, looking somewhat surprised to see what she was doing, and she showed him to the trapdoor which led down to the bathing room.

When they were finished, Lydia piled the vegetables into two large bowls, mixed them together with a pile of dried herbs, chopped garlic, plenty of salt, and a good dollop in each from a large jar of chicken fat from the larder outside. While Nerussa washed her hands, Lydia tipped the vegetables out onto the tray with the chickens, rubbing the birds' skin with the herbed fat, and slid the whole lot into the oven, and headed to the sauna to clean up. 

By the time Äelberon surfaced, smelling of frost mirriam and honey, the food was almost ready. They had cleared and scrubbed the table, and brought out the good plates and napkins. The meal was delicious, and she was pleased when Äelberon commented on how well they had fed him. After they had finished eating, Kaidan moved his chair behind hers and began combing her hair with his fingers, before setting to work on her evening braid. She briefly leaned her cheek on his hand, hoping Äelberon, who she couldn’t see well from this angle, wasn't too scandalised, but relaxed easily into the soothing ritual they had picked up after that night in Dead Man’s Drink.

***

After they had eaten, Kaidan set to clearing the dinner things, and Nerussa and Äelberon made their way outside for the promised smoke, Nerussa bringing a large cup of warm, spiced wine. They settled on the seating area overlooking the waterfall, the single hard, wooden chair having been replaced with a pair of fat cushions, kept in a nearby cupboard. 

They sat in silence for a while, as Äelberon lit his pipe, and Nerussa stared uncertainly across the waterfall.

"Nordling, I believe I owe you a better apology. No, do not protest, it was remiss of me to leave as I did. I needed to leave, I could not have healed, cooped up like that - without wishing to seem ungrateful to Runa and Haring, naturally. They were most gracious hosts. I must confess, I visited them the evening before Saturalia…" He looked over at her, slyly. "I, of course, take all the blame for any lies of omission, as I swore them to secrecy."

She thought for a moment. "They said someone had agreed to clear the Draugr that had overwhelmed the mine where… Haring works in the fallow season! That was you?"

He nodded. "It was the least I could do to offer some repayment for their generosity. In any case, I am truly sorry for any worry, or hurt, that I caused, and for leaving without a proper explanation. I would not have returned to being the warrior you knew if I stayed. I would have indeed grown old." 

She looked into his eyes, surprising him a little, she thought. "I appreciate and accept your apology, Äelberon of Dusk. And Kaidan has helped me understand a little of why you left." She realised she was blushing. He chuckled.

"Ah, yes, Kaidan. He is a good man, I am glad to see you being treated so well."

Her gaze fell to her cup of wine. "I hope you didn't think it too inappropriate, him braiding my hair in front of everyone?" That got a full, throaty laugh.

"Ah, Nordling, by no means! It solidified my good impression of the man, in all honesty. To see you so relaxed, and so affectionate with one another. Well, as I say, I am content."

She nodded, smiling softly. "I also owe you an apology, for my careless words in the marketplace. I should have known not to…" He waved away the apology, taking a long pull on the pipe.

"Ah, think not on it, youngling. My fault for teasing you, although I think the joke was a success?" She grinned, raising an eyebrow briefly. "But as for Ebonnayne… I apologise for that, I must have sounded awful." She took it at first for a joke, but his eyes were so sad, and for a minute he simply stared out at the growing aurora, green light spreading across the black sky, above the snowy plains and city of Whiterun. 

"It is simply a song, Russi. She does not exist. A dream I had…" She decided not to react to the name quite yet. "Even if she were real, I could not… Well. Still, you have found love, have you not? Ah, do not blush, it is clearly more than simple infatuation. You have shared those words, yes?" She nodded, shyly, and he smiled warmly. She took another sip of warm, sweet spiced wine and tried to choose her next words with care.

"I do not mean to pry, but I'm a little full of wine and not certain I didn’t miss something important that I should have understood?”

He sighed, and stared out at the sky a little longer. When he spoke again, he did not turn to face her. “You have read my Dossier, I believe? Then you know of my time in their ‘custody’ during the Great War. Elenwen was… ‘assigned to my case’, no doubt at her own request. We had known each other for a long time, before my exile… Well. She was very… personal, in her interrogations.” He coloured, and she was unsure whether it was a blush, or a flush of anger. Perhaps both, she certainly felt the latter rising in herself. “I will not embarrass you with the details, youngling, but she left me… Unable to function. That part of life is lost to me, and I am a better priest for it. Besides, one does not miss what one has never known. I trust I do not have to explain further?”

She looked across at him, her heart heavy for the great Mer before her. Not merely a great Mer, she thought. A truly _good_ Mer, one who had not deserved an angaid of the mistreatment he had received. “I am so sorry, Äelberon. I do not mean I pity you, please do not think that. I just… There are no words.”

He nodded, looking as though he wanted to say more, but he simply sighed. After a few more moments he spoke again. “Well, there are many things the Thalmor have taken from me. Can’t risk people’s lives to indulge pastimes when you are living on the run... I suppose you know a little of that, now, although I am pleased to see that you have, I suspect, found far more than you lost?” 

She nodded, wondering whether to bring up the name he had used. Suddenly, she remembered. “Oh! Speaking of your Dossier… Please, would you wait here a moment? I have to fetch your present!” He gave her a small smile as she got to her feet and ran indoors.

Kaidan was sitting on the bed in her - their - room, reading. “Everything all right, sweetheart?” She nodded, and opened the drawer of her desk, taking out the prettily wrapped parcel. 

“I just remembered this! I think we may be talking a while longer, you don’t have to wait up for me, if that’s what you’re doing?” He smiled, nodded, and closed the book. She leaned over the bed, kissing him quickly, and ran back downstairs.

Outside, Äelberon looked curiously at her. “You are going to stay here tonight, aren’t you, Äelberon? It’s far too late to go back to Whiterun, or it will be when we are finished, and you’re blazed, at that!”

He nodded, relaxing into the cushion, which he had propped against the railing. “I will stay. Thank you, Nordling, you’re a very gracious hostess. Now, where’s this present?” 

She grinned, noticing his speech had become that little bit less formal, just like Senna when she ‘partook’. Settling herself cross legged on her own cushion, she held out the parcel. “It’s nothing that much, but, well… There was something in the Dossier that made me think it would be a good choice.” Her brow furrowed. “I hope that wasn’t the wrong thing to say, I don’t want you to think..!”

He waved away her words, and held his hand out, taking the parcel gently, holding it in his hands for a few moments before saying or doing anything else. “Thank you, Nordling. Here is yours.” He held out a carved, wooden box to her, and she blushed.

“I didn’t expect! I mean, you didn’t have to! I mean… Thank you!” They both smiled, and turned their attention to unwrapping their gifts. Äelberon’s was wrapped more elaborately, but he still managed to get to the contents first - she was still struggling to see how to even get into the box he had given her. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, and she was afraid she had chosen something awfully wrong.

When he looked at her, she couldn't totally read his expression, he was grinning, but she felt there was more to it. “A sketchbook?”

“Yes, and a set of pencils. Some of them have pigment. I hope it’s all right?”

He nodded. “Thank you, Russi. This is... A wonderful gift. I have not been able to sketch in… Oh, so long.” He folded the paper carefully back around the sketchbook and placed it carefully in the smaller pack that he had brought up with him. 

She held out the box, not hiding the confusion she felt. “I am sorry, Äelberon, but I cannot open this. I can _tell_ something is inside, I can feel it rattling. It is very beautiful, of course, so if I have misunderstood…”

He smiled gently at her. “Can you count, Russi?”

She fought back the urge to roll her eyes. “Of course I can, in a dozen languages!”

His smile broadened. “Then you can open it. Look more closely at the pattern.”

She did as he suggested, and after taking a few deep breaths to clear her head a little, she saw it. _Para._ The Altmeris numeral. She gave it an experimental tap, and felt it give a little. She pressed, carefully, but more firmly, and it gave. She felt something slide on the other side of the box, and gave a little yelp of surprise. Äelberon chuckled, and made an encouraging gesture. _Vera, Nata, Ehca, Nosci_. Goodness, it was so strange to count in Altmeris when she wasn’t trying to soothe her nerves! After _nosci_ , the top of the box slid open, and she saw a piece of soft, forest green velvet, a wonderful contrast to the wood.

Wrapped in the fabric, she found a stunning silver hair adornment. The main piece was carefully wrought into the shape of a stylised Dragon, curled around on itself. A sturdy silver pin ran behind the Dragon, fitting into gaps in the main piece. A single, tiny garnet was set into the eye of the beast. She blinked.

“Oh, this is… This is too much! Where did you…” She looked at him. “Did you make these?”

He nodded, smiling. “I hope you like them?”

She gave him a broad smile. “They’re lovely, Äelberon. I’m trying not to think too much about the symbolism of the pin, but… Oh, don’t look like that, it was a joke! I’m still fairly… uncomfortable about certain aspects of the whole thing, but it doesn’t seem there’s much I can do about it, so I’m trying to embrace it. Thank you.” She motioned to him to put the pipe down for a moment, and rested her cup carefully on the floor before wrapping her arms around him for the second time that day. She smiled as she felt him place another gentle kiss on the top of her hair.

She sat back and picked up her drink. “You called me Russi.”

He nodded, his eyes intent on hers for a moment. “I hope you do not think it too familiar, Nordling?”

“No, I…”

“Well, you have clearly begun to make a life for yourself here, with your new little family. An Altmer, however far displaced, should have a family name, no?”

She noticed he did not use the word ‘exile’. She realised she had not let herself use that word, either. Not about herself, though she realised with a pang that it must be true. She pushed the thought away for now, along with an even worse word, though she suspected he saw it in her face. She nodded. “I am very honoured that you would…”

“Oh, do not be so formal, Russi! I am far too old and ugly to stand on ceremony with such things.”

“You are _not_ ugly! It has been made abundantly clear to me that Alinor's idea of beauty - of even acceptability - is, as Kaidan so eloquently put it, ‘utter bollocks.’ You are strong, with a good chin, lovely hair, and a very disarming twinkle in your eye.” She held up her hands as he began to explain. “I know you were just using a figure of speech, Äelberon, but the fact stands. You and I were both told very untrue things about how we look, and it’s not easy to unlearn. But I will not let you use that word, even in jest, about yourself, in my company. You’re also not _old_ , before you start, you’ve just been alive a bloody long time. You’re not even the oldest person I’ve spoken to in the last year!”

He laughed, raising an eyebrow. “But you are beautiful, Russi, I have always thought so.”

"Well, that's the point, isn't it? They taught me to think I wasn't. And anyway, it shouldn't matter. I'd still love Kaidan if he looked like a horse's arse. Might have taken a bit longer to notice, although even looking like he does it took me a while..." She blushed, and he laughed again.

“In any case, I have said my piece. I don’t expect my words to magically change how you see yourself, and perhaps I am overestimating how much it bothers you, in any case. _Projecting_ , Lucien might say.” She smiled, ruefully. “Regardless! I have an offer for you. Tomorrow, we take the carriage to Morthal, to visit my… My friend - I think, still a little getting used to knowing when that term is appropriate - Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone. She’s a slightly batty old Mystic, I think you will like her.”

“I am a Mystic, myself, you know.”

“See? Unless you can’t like other Mystics, but I know that isn’t true, because Senna is one, too, and she liked her ‘priest friend with the nice arse,’ very much.”

He laughed hard, as she had hoped. “Very well, I shall come and visit the Court of Morthal with you. Just as well I cleaned my armour up!” The twinkle was still in his eye and she allowed herself a small eye-roll.

“You’re like Kaidan, only more so. There’s no way you would have changed out of that armour without cleaning it, and I know it. It would, what is it, ‘disrespect the equipment, and encourage rust and other damage to set in.’”

He laughed, once more. “You are full of surprises, Russi. Your gregarious group reminds me of my children.” She stared blankly at him. He had children? She must have sat too close when he was smoking… “A little too much wine, hm? I was of too low a station to even consider formal adoption, but I raised Lilandtar’s children after he died in the Tower, during the Crisis. I am certain there is some mention in that Dossier you found.”

She remembered something, though it was one of the sections she had not read closely, feeling too personal, somehow. She nodded, anyway. 

"In any case, the point I am moving towards is they did not call me Äelberon, they called me Ata. And you should not be calling me Äelberon, either. Call me Ronnie. Your friends, as well, if you feel it appropriate."

She could feel the tears in her eyes, and rubbed her face irritably. She tried it out, hoping her voice wouldn't crack. "Thank you, Ronnie."


	113. Chapter 113

**1st Morning Star, just about. Skyrim. 4e201**

_Senna,_

I feel a little silly writing this, and a little sad. I have no way to get this to you, even if I could find a courier willing to take a letter to Alinor, it would never reach you. Still, we must keep our little traditions where we can, as you always reminded me, and my New Life letter to you was always one I treasured, especially in years when I was staying with you and could watch you read it. Perhaps you will see some of this in your cards. Naturally, I will squirrel this away in the hidden compartment of my desk, as cautious as you always taught me to be.

So. I have survived seven months here, almost five more than I was supposed to. I lost Auntie's letters, or rather, I didn't realise that I should bring them to the place I was sent to, but I have recovered them, seemingly unread. There have been many surprises, good and bad. This will, I'm afraid, be jumbled, for I have Drink Taken, with, of all people, your blazing friend with the Nice Arse. Best to be a little circumspect even with a letter that will never be sent, hm?

So. Surprises! I have a new soul, or something, I don't know, nobody can give me a straight answer as to how it works. Also a new name. Naturally, I cannot be clearer about any of this. I am, I suppose, Aprax, now, but with luck, you are safe, dear Senna. That is surprise one, and surprise two. I do not imagine the third thing is a surprise, unless they have somehow kept it from you. Yes, I know you can see me raising my eyebrows at that notion.

Another surprise is Skyrim. I at first thought it a horrible, lumpy, grey place. And, well, that is not entirely untrue, but it has much beauty. So unlike the Isles, of course. But there are great vistas, waterfalls, forests where, if you go deep enough, it's dark at midday. There are immense caves filled with life, even in the bitter cold of winter, and beautiful clearings with red and gold leaves scattered everywhere. And there is beauty in Skyrim's people, too. The locals are, for the most part, kind and resourceful, though they can be gruff, and have a very different idea of proper manners, which I am still getting used to. I have become good friends with a number of them. Surprises three and four.

I have also found some wonderful travelling companions, and… well, seeing as you will never see this, I may as well be honest. I've found someone to love, who loves me, and cherishes me, as I hope my grandfather - my _real_ grandfather, Senna, because I have begun to suspect there was much more to your time in Vvardenfell, hmm? - cherished you, for your time together. I hope you would not be too upset to hear that he is a human, although he is no Nord, Imperial, Redguard or even Breton. That is probably pushing the limits of what I should say, although I imagine they have put two and two together by now, in any case. At least three more surprises!

What else? I've bought a house! A great, big one, almost as big as yours, though not so grand. Actually, my friends and I bought it together. We have two dogs, although I feel guilty bringing them into danger, so they will probably stay here, much of the time, being taken for walks by my housekeeper.

Well, there is so much more I could write, but it's late, and there is a beautiful man to wrap my arms around as I fall asleep, so I hope you will forgive my ending this letter you will never see, here.

Much love, as always,

R

***

They arrived in Morthal in the late afternoon, after having to clear a path for the carriage shortly after Rorikstead - a number of bandits had set up a camp around the only bridge for miles, trying to extort a toll. Äelberon, riding his new love, had reached them first, and dealt with the majority of the actual fighting by the time the others had caught up, leaving only the more literal path-clearing, as the bandits had attempted to swarm him in a bottleneck just across the bridge, formed by the two sides of their encampment.

The mood of the town was more sombre even than she remembered, and as they once more climbed down from the carriage, she realised the children were not playing in the streets, this time. Frowning, she entered Highmoon Hall, and approached the Jarl’s seat.

“Ah, you have come. Good. It is good to see you, my dear. How goes it with you?”

“Well, thank you, my Jarl. Forgive me for cutting through the formalities, but… What is wrong in Morthal?”

Idgrod nodded, gravely. “It does not take a crazy old Mystic to sense it, hm? There has been a tragic accident, I am told. Hroggar’s house burned down, his wife and little daughter inside. I believe you met her - little Helgi?”

She nodded, remembering the clever-eyed little girl who had brought Lydia’s pack as they had been trying to drum some degree of weapon handling into Nerussa. “I’m so sorry to hear it. Is there anything we can do?”

Idgrod sighed, considering her words carefully, Nerussa thought. “My people believe the house to be cursed now. Who am I to gainsay them? Hroggar blames his wife for spilling bear fat in the fire, but many folk whisper that he set the fire himself. Lust can make a man do the unthinkable, of course. The ashes were still warm, when he pledged himself to Alva.” 

“I see. But you haven’t arrested the man?”

“On rumour and gossip? If I did that, I and my court wizard would both be in chains… But you, you might find the truth for us. Sift through the ashes others are too fearful to touch. See what they tell you. Should you prove him guilty or innocent, I will reward you, and you will have more than repaid my hospitality last year.” She sighed once more. “And perhaps we will have time to speak of more pleasant things, as well.” Nerussa caught her eye, which darted to a point over her shoulder, where Kaidan stood.

“Of course, my Jarl.”

“Oh, please, girl. Less formality, you make me feel so _old_.” 

***

Nerussa and Äelberon went alone to the house, leaving the others in the Hall for the time being. A group of five would have drawn far too much attention, she thought, but she had an unsettling feeling about this. As they crossed the ruined threshold, a small sob drew their attention. Huddled in the corner was a small, pale, translucent figure.

“Helgi?” Nerussa crouched near the spirit.

“Elf lady? What are you doing here?” She wiped at her face with small fists, clearly annoyed at having been found crying. Yes, that fit the child she remembered.

“I came to visit, child. Do you remember what happened to your house?”

“The smoke woke me… It was hot, and I was scared. So I hid. Then it got cold, and dark. I’m not scared any more!”

“Of course, Helgi. You’re very brave, everyone knows that.”

She nodded, ghostly jaw jutting out determinedly. “But… I am lonely. Would you play with me, Elf lady?”

Nerussa nodded. “I’d be happy to, and maybe if you remember, you can tell me how the fire started?”

“Okay! We’ll play hide and seek. You find me, and I’ll tell you. It’s nearly night time, so we can play soon. The other one is playing, too, and she can’t come out until then.”

Nerussa was about to ask who the ‘other one’ was, but Äelberon put a hand on her arm. “May I play, as well, Helgi?”

The little ghost girl stared up at him. “Sure - it’ll be a great game!” As they stood, she vanished from view.

Back in the Hall, Äelberon seemed troubled, although Nerussa could hardly blame him. He drew Nerussa into a side room, checking carefully that nobody was in earshot.

“I fear this may be more than a mere murder, Nordling, although that would be bad enough. There are subtle signs… Well, I shall not bore you with the details, but when you have hunted…” He lowered his voice further, checking once more nobody would hear his next words. “Vampires, as long as I have, you learn to spot the signs, particularly when one has insinuated its way into a community. I regret to say, I think this ‘other one’ may be one such creature, and most likely not the only one.”

Nerussa set her shoulders. “Very well. Thank you for letting me know. I suppose you would rather I stay here while you… despatch the creature, but I must be there for Helgi. She recognised me, I think she will tell me, if I win her game. If I don’t show up, she may simply hide again.”

"Very well," he echoed. He sounded somewhat displeased, but did not actually refuse, so she left the Hall with him.

Outside, night had fallen, fast and dark. Nerussa followed Äelberon, who made his way almost instinctively to a small plot behind the city, dotted with simple grave stones. Near the entrance to the area, they saw a strange tableau - a disturbed grave, the tiny coffin propped at one end, and a weeping woman in dark, stained clothes beside it, a shovel at her feet. 

“Laelette?” Where had he got that name? The woman’s face turned to them, and there was something indefinably wrong about it. She was pretty enough, but… _Oh._ “Yes, I thought so. Your husband seeks you, Laelette.” There was acid in his voice, and now she remembered, there had been a Nord on the road out of town, she hadn’t really heard what he had said as they passed, but it must have been about this Laelette. “Who made you, Laelette? Do you know the clan?”

The vampire launched herself at him, but - as though it were nothing - he subdued the creature. “Laelette. Who made you?” 

She just stood there, swaying dreamily. After a few moments she started to speak, but it made little sense. Vague nothings about a "pretty friend, who sang such lovely songs…" After a few more moments, Äelberon glanced very slightly to his left, put his hand on the vampire's shoulder, and thrust a silver dagger - she hadn't even seen he had those, and for a moment she was back in that awful cloakroom - into her chest.

As the body slumped to the ground, she heard a man’s anguished cry, and Äelberon moved to speak to the approaching Nord. Ah, that explained the glance.

“Laelette! She’s… dead!” 

She did not hear Äelberon's reply, though it did nothing to comfort the man, who broke past him, and ran to the body of what had once been his wife, collapsing to his knees. 

“Ysmir’s beard! She’s… a vampire?” As Äelberon led the grieving man away to speak to him, Nerussa knelt by the open grave. She brushed aside a clump of soil on the coffin lid, and heard a soft giggle, though she could not see Helgi this time.

“You found me, Elf lady! Laelette was looking, too, but I’m glad you found me first!” The small voice grew sadder. “Laelette was told to… To burn Mama and me. But she didn’t want to. She wanted to play with me. Forever, and ever. She kissed me on the neck, and I got so cold, I didn’t even feel the fire… At first. Laelette thought she could take me, and keep me, but she can’t. I’m all burned up.” A small yawn. “I’m tired, Elf lady. I’m going to sleep for a while…” 

When she returned to Äelberon, he explained what he had learned from the Nord. His wife had ‘left to join the Stormcloaks’ after spending a lot of time with Alva, who she had never previously liked. The man was, of course, in denial of what was obvious, even to Nerussa. Äelberon's demeanour was unlike… No, she _had_ seen him like this before, she thought. At the Symposium, aside from the times he had allowed his humour or compassion to shine through. More focused than usual, and rather taciturn.

They escorted the man to his house, and conferred in a quiet corner of the town.

“This Alva, did you encounter her when you stayed in Morthal before?”

She thought back. “I think so. My recovery was spent in the Jarl’s hall, but before Ustengrav we stayed in the tavern.”

He nodded. “Your impressions?”

“I am not certain it was her, but there was a dark-haired woman in the tavern. Paid a lot of attention to Kaidan and Lucien, although that’s not unusual. Seemed… Well, a lot of the women in taverns are _forward_ , but she was far more… Blatant? Touching them, and things.” She blushed, and was annoyed with herself. “Both of them reacted about the same as they ever do - Kaidan was polite, but firm. Lucien did his best to pretend he didn’t understand what she was driving at. She was only there the first night, though, and I don’t think she came back while I was recovering. She looked human, though. Normal eyes, all that.”

He had been listening intently, clearly holding back his own questions, perhaps becoming slightly impatient toward the end. “Most likely Cyrodiilic, then.” The comment was more to himself, she thought. “The Jarl told you where Alva resides? I should search the place.”

She shook her head. “If you go in there, Hroggar will likely spot you, and make you fight him - you’ve a hunter’s grace, Ronnie, but I’d wager I’m better at sneaking around houses without being caught. I can let myself in, turn invisible, get the… The lay of the land, so to speak. Don’t look at me like that, I won’t try and take her on, and if she catches me, I’ll scream bloody murder, and then you can run in, or if I’m more than a few minutes.”

He looked decidedly unimpressed with her plan, but did not argue, setting himself up outside Alva’s front door, as she let herself in. She slipped into the small house, and cast Invisibility, glancing at the man sleeping on a straw mattress in the corner. He snored, and turned over, muttering something about ‘his love…’ 

She grimaced and slipped down the stairs ahead of her, and into a dark, dank cellar. Casting her new Nighteye spell, she looked around. Certainly no sign of Alva in there, now. There was a spot in the corner where the packed dirt floor had been disturbed, almost as though an animal had scrabbled at it, trying to get out. As she moved over to the spot, she observed that it was about the right size for a small Nord woman to… sleep in, she supposed. Half a dozen or so pertans deep, the soil soft and loose. Gingerly, glad of her gloves, she felt around in the soil, her fingers closing on a small, flat object. A journal. She glanced around the room again, and went to rejoin Äelberon.

He read quickly through the vampire’s journal, his mouth setting into a hard line as he did. “Have you read _Immortal Blood_ , youngling?” She nodded. “That is well. See, here. A familiar name.”

Movarth. She did her best to recall the book, an account of a series of meetings with a vampire hunter, from an ‘advisor’ who at the end revealed their own vampirism, and ‘fell on him.’ She had taken it for fiction, with a fairly well done twist ending, but seemingly that was not the case.

"The book is a mixture of truth and fancy. Regardless, this Movarth is no ordinary vampire. We must proceed with extreme care. I would rather leave you behind, but you have fire magicks, yes? That will be useful. You should fetch Kaidan, with any silver he has, and I will inform the Jarl. It would be better if we could wait until dawn, but the risk is too great that he will bolt."

She nodded, and they parted ways by the path to the burned-down house.


	114. Chapter 114

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note: vampires are gross and sleazy and there's some implied sexual (entirely consensual, just vampirey and ick) things going on in this chapter, as well as a relatively graphic (for me) kill move type thing at the end.

As they moved through the swamp, Kaidan listened to Nerussa's hushed explanation of the situation. Aye, he remembered this Alva. Made Lucien _extremely_ uncomfortable, she had, and reminded Kaidan unpleasantly of his own all-too-recent dissipated past - he'd already been gone for Nerussa at that point, though she'd have had no chance anyway. Äelberon wasn't saying much, clearly his head was in a hunting space, far more honed than Kaidan's own would likely ever be, but still familiar at its core. 

He rubbed his chin, thinking. Wasn't keen on taking Nerussa into a powerful Vampire's lair, but he knew better than to tell her that. He'd taken the odd bounty on the bloodsuckers, in his time, though nothing like this. Lone, feral creatures, mostly, and of course they'd encountered a few weak, half-starved ones in Potema's crypt. He was bloody glad Äelberon had come to Morthal with them, though. He didn't like to think about what could have happened if it was just her, Kaidan, Lucien and Lydia on this trip. 

Outside the cave which Äelberon determined was the lair, he turned to address them.

"I do not want either of you taking needless risks. In particular, leave Movarth to me. Their hierarchy is rigid enough that you will be in no doubt which is him. Nerussa, do not waste magicka on Illusion, even Invisibility is likely to be ineffective on at least some of them. Stick to Fire magicks, as I said. Kaidan, follow my lead." He read an unspoken _"and keep her safe”_ behind that. Not that he needed telling, but he appreciated it was there. The two of them nodded.

Inside, they made quick progress. He admired both Äelberon's technique and his sword and bow. The ebony bastard sword had a silvery lustre, suggesting a complex alloy - bet Äelberon didn't have to re-silver the edge of his blade every few fights. The bow was even more beautiful than Kaidan's own, golden, double limbed - probably took even more strength to draw than his did - and the Elf had done so, easily, on horseback at Robber's Gorge. A few single, weak vampires in the small chambers near the entrance were quickly dealt with, Nerussa not even needing to charge her spells, Kaidan's own weapons still sheathed. 

Soon, they came to a large, candlelit room, featuring a grisly dining table. Kaidan had a strong stomach, but it turned slightly as he saw the pieces of bloody carcass, goblets with blood smeared around the rims, all mixed in with seemingly random items - an old boot, a ruined book, a child's doll. 

The occupants of the room were absorbed in their… activities, and he glanced at Nerussa, concerned - though not really surprised - to see the first signs of a 'bad time' on her face. He put a gauntleted hand on her arm and she put her hand over it, giving him a brief smile. 

Sure enough, it was immediately evident which one was Movarth. The others were intent on Alva, while one vampire, stunningly attractive in a hard-to-define way, sat, an air of boredom radiating from him, in an ornate throne-like chair. 

Äelberon signalled, and they both drew their bows. Nerussa charged her spells, the faint orange light reflecting in her eyes as he glanced at her. Between the two of them, he and Äelberon took down several of the distracted vampires before the commotion began. As Äelberon ran into the fray, he cast something over his shoulder at Nerussa, and they were surrounded by a pale, golden ring of light, wide enough that Kaidan could venture two arms' length from her side without leaving it. 

He quickly put his bow on his back and drew the silver-edged greatsword, and the pair of them advanced, Firebolts shooting past him. He thought he heard her mutter under her breath - Elven numbers, she'd said before - and was glad of the ring of light, giving him a reason to stay close without her getting frustrated. He darted forward, grabbing a vampire and running it through, kicking the body off his blade, and moving to the next. Alva fell, naked and revolting, to one of Nerussa's spells. 

Äelberon was glowing, reminding him of Lucien's Sun Fire, only far, far stronger, and he saw a vampire reach toward the Elf, cringing away in pain and fear as it was touched by the glow. From the corner of his eye, as he fought on, he saw… Shit. He'd read something about that. Some old, Second Era shit, and he turned to look for a second, arms continuing their swing. Äelberon had summoned a fucking Aedric Spear - a great beam of light that he wielded like a halberd, swinging it around and taking the last fight out of the final three vampires between himself and his quarry.

He focused again on his own fight, and Nerussa. He took down yet another Vampire, and saw she was in trouble. A group of Vampires, clearly unhappy at the interruption of their time with Alva, were advancing on her. He dashed around the table to her side, but as he advanced, she caught his eye. He stopped in his tracks, and she released the spell she had charged. A surge of flame erupted from her - like the spell Lucien sometimes used, but stronger by far, he thought. 

The Vampires didn't fall instantly, but screeched, dispersing, falling to the flames that still continued to burn as they got further away. She fell to her knees, and he glanced quickly around - it was down to Äelberon and Movarth, good - before dropping his sword and running to her side. He vaguely heard parts of an exchange on the other side of the chamber - Aurielian? - but his focus was on her. He knelt before her, taking off his gauntlets, offering her his hands. She looked dazed, but took them, and he offered her what comfort he could. Her eyes were wide, her face stricken. _Shit._

"Nerussa? Can you look at me? No, don't make yourself." Glancing over his shoulder, he saw Movarth and Äelberon still fighting, but he knew the Pale Elf could handle this. "Do you need me to hold you? I can take off my chest plate, but it'll take a minute." She nodded, tears beginning to fall. He unbuckled the plate and his pauldrons, as quickly as he could, and set them down before wrapping his arms carefully around her. She sobbed into his shoulder, and he carefully shifted the pair of them so she was facing fully away from the flashing red and white lights. 

As he looked over her shoulder, he felt relief that she couldn't see this. Äelberon's face was harsh, and he had taken a few blows, though the Vampire had never been close to gaining the upper hand. The Elf gripped the Vampire's head in both hands, bringing it close to his own, the body of the creature dangling, flailing at first, then hanging, resigned. He guessed Äelberon was asking something, and didn't like the answer. Yeah. He was really fucking glad she wasn't seeing this, he thought, as he saw the Elf suffuse himself in another colour of light for a moment, not even needing a free hand to cast, and push his hands together, crushing the Vampire's skull. He discarded the body, roughly, and strode back across the room, covered in the results of his last kill. As he passed, Kaidan met his eyes briefly, and saw the features were beginning to crease from pain, though he didn't think it was from the wounds. They exchanged a brief nod, and the Elf was gone.


	115. Chapter 115

She was in Idgrod's bed. A sudden panic siezed her, at the thought that the last couple of months had all been part of the awful nightmares, taunting her with something wonderful she couldn't really have. She clutched at the bedcovers, unable to bring herself to sit up, but then she felt the arm around her, a hand softly brushing the hair out of her face.

"Hey, sleepy-head. Back with us, eh? Don't worry, we're both dressed and that, you were flat out when I brought you back, and that Idgrod put us in here. She's a bit of a one, eh?" 

She was relieved, but her head hurt. She hadn't had a shut down like that since Alinor, and she knew she would be exhausted for the rest of the day. "Sorry. I hope I wasn't too much trouble."

"You? Never. Äelberon had to leave, he didn't say where he were going, but he knows our plans for the next few days, I'm sure he can catch up to us." 

She sighed, too tired to think about that just yet. 

"Think you could stand to eat summat? Probably do you good."

She nodded, but wrapped her arms around him. "Soon. Actually, could probably stand to eat a lot. But not quite yet." She leaned her head on his shoulder, and felt his own head rest gently against it.

***

Some time later, Idgrod came into the room, chuckling and teasing as Kaidan slipped out to get Nerussa - now sitting up on top of the covers - some breakfast. 

"So, finally got out of your own way? Glad to see it. Can't save the world with your drawers frozen on! Now, I owe you a reward for dealing with this Movarth, do I not?" She produced a heavy coin purse, for which Nerussa thanked her, though the money would be going to Äelberon. Well, she would take a small cut for herself and Kaidan, wouldn't want to offend him. 

"You know, I could use someone like you in my court, girl. I hear you're already a Thane twice over, would you be interested in a third title? You'd be entitled to buy a plot of land, though as you can probably imagine, it's likely to be prone to damp."

"Thank you, Idgrod. I'm not entirely back to my usual self, so I probably shouldn't formally accept yet, but unofficially, I'd be delighted. You're definitely one of my favourite Jarls."

Idgrod cackled, and patted her hand. "Glad to hear it! I'll let you get a little more rest before your man comes back with your food. Let me or Aslfur know when you're ready to send for the carriage, yes? But take as long as you need."

***

They made it to Ivarstead late the following evening, and spent a quiet evening in the tavern. Nerussa left after breakfast, having explained to the others that she had a feeling she might be a few days. No sense them having to camp outside High Hrothgar for days on end. None of them had been terribly keen, but then, they hadn't been able to muster much enthusiasm for the idea of three days trying to keep a fire lit halfway up a mountain in Morning Star, either. 

As she made her way up the Steps, she took the time to read the plaques, mounted at odd intervals along the way. She ran her gloved fingertips over the etched letters, and wished she could stop to copy them down, but even as she came to the third one, it was far too cold. Perhaps the Greybeards had a book containing the same words… An interesting combination of myth and history, she supposed. Some familiar names, and one strange one. She used a calm spell on the few hostile animals she encountered along the way, relieved not to find any ice wraiths. She felt surprisingly calm herself, wrapped up warm against the cold, pausing halfway to eat some bread and cheese, wishing it wasn’t too cold to eat her apple. She sat, gazing out at the land ahead of her, not quite able to work out which direction she was facing. 

When she finally reached High Hrothgar, she was greeted inside by Arngeir. He brushed aside her apology, and ushered her into a small, relatively comfortable space near a warm fire. 

“Dragonborn, I have thought long about your last experience here. I am sorry if our words caused you turmoil. We cannot take them back, but it is your choice how much store you set in them. However, we can offer you some guidance, if you would take it.”

She nodded, assuming he meant advice on the nature of her soul, or something along those lines. 

“We were all young, once, hard though it may be to believe. Young men, and impetuous and emotional, as any others. You should not seek to lose your emotions, Dragonborn, but there may be times when you need to… set them aside, perhaps, or overcome them, temporarily, at least. It would not be balanced to push them away entirely, but there are ways to adjust how strong their effect is, nonetheless. If you would like, I would be more than willing to instruct you in the methods we use?”

She looked blankly at him for a moment. “Do you mean meditation? I have seen the others…”

“Yes, Dragonborn, precisely. It is no panacea, naturally, but it can help you to retain your calm, in times of great distress, if you have spent time learning to allow yourself to feel. Now, you do not have to answer immediately, I am sure you came here with some other reason than to apologise to some dusty old men?”

She sighed. “I don’t think you’ll be happy, Master Arngeir, but I need to learn the Shout which was used to defeat Alduin.”

A sharp intake of breath, and his voice grew stern. “Where did you learn of that? Who have you been talking to?”

“It was recorded on Alduin’s Wall.”

“Ah, the Blades. Of course. They specialise in meddling in matters they barely understand.” He shook his head. “Their arrogance knows no bounds. They have _always_ sought to turn the Dragonborn from the path of wisdom. Would you simply allow yourself to be a tool in their hands, used for their own purposes?”

She sat up straight, and kept her voice neutral. “I seek to defeat Alduin, and protect Nirn as best I can. I am no puppet of the Blades.” 

It was his turn to sigh, it seemed. “No, no, of course not. Forgive me, Dragonborn. I have been intemperate with you. But heed my warning. The Blades may claim to serve the Dragonborn, but they do not. They never have.”

“That is certainly abundantly clear in Delphine’s case, though she occasionally remembers to moderate her tone. I do not require her service, Arngeir, I merely seek knowledge. So, can you teach me this Shout?”

Arngeir looked at her closely, considering. Finally, he spoke. “No. I cannot teach it to you, for I do not know it. It is called ‘Dragonrend,’ but the Words of Power which form it are unknown to us. We do not regret this, it holds no place within the Way of the Voice.”

“How so?”

“It was created by those who had lived under the unimaginable cruelty of Alduin’s Dragon Cult. Perhaps you read the stone tablets on your way up the mountain? Their whole lives were consumed with fear, and hatred of Dragons, and they poured all that hatred into this Shout.” He sighed once more, looking suddenly far older. “When you learn a Shout, you take it into your very being. In a sense, you become the Shout. In order to learn and use this Shout, you will be taking all that hatred, that rage, that… _evil_ into yourself.”

“And yet, it seems I need it to defeat Alduin. Is there any other way?”

He regarded her once more, and got to his feet. “Only Paarthurnax, the Master of our Order, can answer that question. If he so chooses. But, thanks to the Blades, you now have questions only Paarthurnax can answer.” She tried not to raise her eyebrow at the name. _Kyne called on Paarthurnax, who pitied Man/Together they taught Men to use the Voice._

He beckoned her to follow. “But if you are to meet Paarthurnax, I am afraid my earlier offer must now become a demand. Come, I shall show you to the Library, you may of course come and go freely around High Hrothgar, but the Library shall be your quarters for the next three days. On the third, you will meet Paarthurnax.”

***

“I’m telling you, Lucien, it was an Aedric Spear. I know, not supposed to even be bloody possible no more, but he was around in the Third Era, right? And he’s a Priest. Maybe he… I dunno, maybe his Order still knew how to do that shit, when he was young? Anyway, unless you know anything else that lets a person swing a beam of light around as a weapon, that’s what it was.”

Lucien frowned. “Well, no… I don’t. My ancestor, Octavius… I read in his memoir that he knew a fellow who could perform that type of feat. Someone named… Verano, I think? Anyway, whatever it was, I would _love_ to see that, some day, although I can’t say I am sorry I missed the rest of it. I’m glad you were there for Nerussa, though.”

Kaidan nodded, staring at the sapphire-encrusted Dragon Claw in his hand. “Funny business, that, in the Barrow. Reckon we ought to wait for Nerussa to come back, or try the lock in the morning?”

“Well, she’s got that… other thing to do, after this, doesn’t she? We may as well investigate, if there’s a Word Wall, we’ll have the place ready cleared, and she can just nip in and learn the Word. If not, nothing worth bothering her about, wouldn't you say?”

His friend nodded, and Lucien eyed the Resonant Sphere. There was no reason to worry, but still, he would feel better when the signal came.

***

As agreed, once she had finished her first evening’s instruction, she quickly activated the Resonant Sphere. Once for an alarm, twice for ‘all is well’. The answering buzz soothed her, at least somewhat. She looked around the space she had been allocated, and decided to unpack her things, seeing as she would be there for a while. She hadn’t brought much, the smaller of her two packs, a single change of clothes - she didn’t fancy trying to wash things in these cold, stone halls - and her journal. Thankfully, there were books she could borrow, although nothing terribly drew her eye.

Opening the journal, she was surprised when a piece of paper fell out. She looked at it for a moment, lying on the thin mattress of the stone bed, then picked it up and unfolded it.

_Hey, you._

_Don't know really what to write, here, but I know you're off, up that mountain by yourself when we get to Ivarstead, so I thought I'd give you something to read. Sorry that I'm going to tuck it in your journal, seems the safest place. Don't worry, I'll not read it!_

_I'm no good with my words, you know that, but I just want to say how much you mean to me. Hope you know that, by now, but it's always nice to hear it again, eh? Every time you look at me, I feel like the luckiest man alive. I hope you feel even a fragment of that, and I try not to tell myself you deserve better than me, because it seems like you’ve chosen me anyway, and I will always respect your decisions, love._

_Not much else to say, I suppose, so I shall end this here, and look forward to meeting you at the foot of the mountain in a few days’ time._

_With love,_

_Kaidan_

She had received the odd note from Ondolemar, over their ten years, but they were never anything other than fancily-worded, faintly embarrassing attempts at being seductive. She suddenly remembered, all those months ago, after helping Fastred and Klimmek, saying something to Kaidan and Lucien about the girl being better with a sincere man, not someone who put Nerussa in mind of the Mer back home, and the look they had exchanged. Gods, how had she not seen it in him sooner? Or herself, for that matter.

She tucked the note carefully into the back of her journal - a fresh one, for the new year - and prepared for sleep. In the morning, she was to practice meditation in front of the statue honouring Kynareth - or Kyne? - in the other room of the Library, and she was already aware of a certain stiffness in her thighs from kneeling all evening by the darkening windows.


	116. Chapter 116

Her legs ached. Her back ached. Her knees felt as though she had been slamming them into the belly of a bandit in steel plate. But she had done it. After spending all day in front of the statue, she had finally succeeded. She lay flat on her back, panting a little. The instruction had made little sense - ‘meditate until you are nearly finished’ - but finally, this time, she had completed the task. She could tell, because nothing had happened this time - the previous attempts’ failure had been marked by a feeling of being struck by lightning, though with no lasting ill-effect.

Yet, as she lay on her back, hand resting on her stomach, she realised something _was_ happening. Her mind was flooding with new meaning to the Words she knew, including the one she had meditated on after speaking with Arngeir that morning. She had forgotten to focus on a Word during the Dragon fight on the way to Sky Haven Temple, so she had taken Arngeir’s advice and spent some time honing in on the word _ZUN_ , which she had learned in Snow Veil Sanctum, and been nervous about. _Weapon._ Arngeir had told her it was part of a shout known simply as Disarm, but she still intended to test it on a Draugr or something, before any living person.

She recognised her thoughts spiralling off topic, and gently brought herself back to the hand on her belly, the feel of her legs. She picked one of the words swirling around her mind. _Laas_. She carefully turned it around in her thoughts, and saw new potential. Follow it with _Ro_ and Dah and… Yes. Interesting. 

She lay there for some time, turning over the words, wondering which would fit together in these new patterns, feeling the soft breeze that somehow came from the statue, and the stone under her bare feet. 

***

As Lucien stepped forward into what was likely the largest chamber in the Barrow, a gate slammed shut behind him, leaving Kaidan stuck in the passage they had just come down. “Shit! Is there a chain, or something?” 

Lucien looked around, rising panic in his face. “Absolutely nothing, at least, not that I can see.” Behind him, Kaidan saw one of the dozen or so sarcophagi fall open, and another, and a third. Before he had a chance to warn his friend, Lucien had spun around, spells already charged. “Can you shoot through the gate, Kaidan? If so, I would most _awfully_ appreciate it if you would avoid hitting me, although, honestly, I’ll take any help I can get!” He flung a Sun Fire spell at the nearest Draugr.

Kaidan’s bow was already drawn, the gate wasn’t ideal, but the gaps were plenty big enough, and he was able to take out at least a few of the creatures that descended on Lucien. He had to admit, though, Lucien handled himself well, moving quickly, and somehow staying out of the way of Kaidan’s own arrows. Finally, all the undead had fallen, and to both of their great relief, the gates on either side of the chamber opened. They checked the space for anything of interest, noting the location of the Word Wall, and sat on a ledge by the altar, catching their breath, and looking around at the chamber, which was unlike any they had encountered so far. 

“The culture of the ancient Nords fascinates me, you know. Just look at this place, centuries of history, right in front of us. Remarkable, wouldn’t you agree?”

Kaidan smiled, nodding. “Aye, I won’t argue there. Can only imagine what was lost to the ages.”

“Not lost! Just mislaid. We’ll find out all that’s been forgotten, eventually.” 

***

After a simple evening meal, shared with the Greybeards, Nerussa retired once more to the Library. She wrote what she could remember of her thoughts on the re-application of Words of Power in her journal, sipping water from her skin, before remembering to signal Lucien. 

Looking again at the bookshelf - she had no idea why the space was called a Library, when it only had one - she had found there were actually several books she would like to read, and it took her a while to choose. Perhaps she had been… _a little_ less relaxed, the previous night. She settled on _Remanada_ , and made herself as comfortable as she could. It was a somewhat overwritten book, she thought, but it touched on many fascinating topics, and she soon found herself enjoying the flow of the words. 

Finally, just before sleep, she wrote what she knew would probably be the first of several drafts of a reply to Kaidan’s letter in her journal, allowing herself another look at the precious words he had given her. 

***

The second full day passed, much as the first had, though without the revelations on the Words of Power. After the shared evening meal, when she had signalled Lucien once more, she spoke with Arngeir.

“You are doing well, Dragonborn. I believe you will indeed be ready to meet Paarthurnax tomorrow. Is there something I can help you with, in the meantime?”

“I am wondering if there is any way I can learn more about the Voice?”

“You have learned so much already, Dragonborn. Growing your gift too quickly would be dangerous. But there are many Words of Power in Skyrim, carved in the Dragon tongue. Even from here, we can feel the Thu'um resonate from them.” He paused, regarding her carefully. “Finding these lost Words would be a sufficient test, to temper your abilities with experience. Before you leave, I will meditate, and see if any is revealed.”

“Thank you, Master Arngeir.” She retired to the Library, and spent the remainder of the evening in much the same way as the night before.

***

_She was in the Eldergleam Sanctuary, overwhelmed at the sight of the Tree itself, memories of Alinor flooding through her mind. And yet, her focus shifted, somehow._

_She allowed it to._

_She was… Inside the tree? No. She _was_ the Tree. She could feel its strong trunk, its immense branches. It felt everything. _She_ felt everything. The tiny dark-haired human clambering over its roots. The other humans, and the elf, approaching. She tried to let go of the insistent feeling that _she_ was the elf. That was foolish. She was the Tree._

_In the shadows, near the path the humans used, she saw a small, pale form. The focus shifted again, and she was Nerussa, but seeing what the Tree had seen? At first she mistook the figure for… Ana? The Breton from the Orphanage. But, no, this was someone new. Platinum-pale hair, and big, bright eyes, gazed up in confusion at the group approaching the tree._

_She felt a soft breeze ruffle her… branches? Hair? It carried with it, the merest suggestion of a voice._

_**Find her. You need one another. She is My Child.** _

***

She woke feeling refreshed, the aches in her body almost gone. After washing, she dressed and walked up to the statue, cautiously. 

“I’m… not really practiced at addressing deities, and you are _so far_ beyond my experience, but… I will do my best.” She stood for a moment more, and went to find Arngeir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH HECK, WHO THAT?!


	117. Chapter 117

“So, Dovahkiin. It is time. Our leader lives in seclusion at the very summit of the mountain. He speaks to us only rarely, and never to outsiders. Being afforded a meeting with him is a great privilege.”

She nodded, waving away the question that had been on her mind. There was no need to ask. Paarthurnax. _Paar Thur Nax_ \- Ambition, Overlord, Cruelty. Coupled with his name being on the tablet, well. She had wondered, briefly, why the Greybeards in the monastery did not assume Dragon Tongue names, but she supposed most they encountered would never even hear the name of their leader, assuming Arngeir to be in that role. 

“Thank you, Master Arngeir. I have seen the swirling winds - not entirely natural, I think? - blocking the path further up the mountain. How may I reach Paarthurnax?”

He smiled, ever so slightly. “Only those whose Voice is strong can traverse the path. We will teach you one more Shout, to enable you to clear your way. Come, Dragonborn.”

In the courtyard outside, she was guided to a space near the foot of the path, by a small set of steps and a stone archway. The three other Greybeards each spoke a Word of the Shout - _LOK, VAH, KOOR_ , Sky, Spring, Summer - and she stood, the glowing words on the floor drifting into her mind. When the words had faded, the four Greybeards held their arms out, and she felt their Understanding of the Words wash over her.

“Thank you,” she muttered, her focus now on the way ahead.

***

Some hours later, high in the clouds, she reached the highest accessible point of the mountain. At first, all she could see was the white of the snow and the clouds, and the blue sky above, the sun high above her head. As she blinked, turning her head, she saw a dark shape - a Word Wall, though as she drew closer, it did not appear to have any writing. She looked around, wondering if perhaps she had been wrong, though she could not see anywhere that a human might shelter. As she stood, pondering, she felt the air move, heard great wings beating. A shadow passed overhead, and an enormous grey Dragon landed in front of her.

 _”Drem Yol Lok._ Greetings, _wunduniik_. I am Paarthurnax. Who are you? What brings you to my _strunmah_ , my mountain top?”

“I am _Neh Ru Sah._ I come to seek _tinvaak,_ but also counsel.”

The great head tilted on one side, the eyes narrowing. “Interesting. This was a name you chose for yourself, yes, in one of the tongues of the _joore_ , the mortals? Before you knew what you were, what you were becoming. Nonetheless, first you must have _drem_ , patience. There are formalities which must be observed, at the first meeting of two of the Dov. By long tradition, the elder speaks first. Hear my Thu'um! Feel it in your bones. Match it, if you are Dovahkiin!"

He turned, facing the Word Wall, and - _YOL_. The Word imprinted itself in the Wall, bathed in the Fire of his Voice. She walked forward, ignoring the pain of the dying flames as she stood in front of the Wall, contemplating it. As she absorbed the Knowledge of the Word, Paarthurnax made a sound of approval behind her. 

"A gift, _Dovahkiin. Yol._ Understand Fire as the _Dov_ do. Now, show me what you can do. Greet me not as Elf, but as _Dovah!"_ She turned, slowly, to face the great Dragon, feeling his Understanding of the Word wash over her. She steadied herself, reminding herself of the lessons of the past few days, and met his gaze.

"Do not be afraid. _Faasnu_. Let me feel the power of your _Thu'um._ "

She felt the fear, observed it quietly, and let it sit for a moment, before allowing it to drift away. Setting her feet a little further apart, she relaxed her hands and shoulders.

_YOL!_

The flames burst forth - more urgent than the Frost Shouts she had learned so far - and struck Paarthurnax in the chest. He nodded, looking more impressed than she would have expected. "Aaah… yes! _Sossedov_ los mul. The Dragonblood runs strong in you. It is long since I had the pleasure of speech with one of my own kind." 

The immense wings flapped, and she steadied herself against the wind it caused. Paarthurnax settled himself on the edge of the Word Wall, watching her. 

"So. You have made your way here, to me. No easy task for a _joor_ … mortal. Even for one of _Dovah Sos_. Dragonblood. What would you ask of me?"

“You know, I am sure, that I seek to defeat Alduin. I need to learn Dragonrend.”

“Ah. I have expected you. _Prodah._ You would not come all this way for _tinvaak_ with an old _dovah_. No. You seek your weapon against Alduin, as you say." _Prodah,_ ‘foreseen’, she thought, with an insinuation of… warning.

She nodded, eyes meeting his, knowing she could not show weakness. “The Greybeards were reluctant to allow this.”

“Hmm. Yes. They are very protective of me. _Bahlaan fahdonne_. But I do not know the _Thu'um_ you seek. _Krosis_. It cannot be known to me." 

“I, too, have worthy friends. It is a comfort, no? To be truthful, I suspected you might not know the Shout - after Arngeir’s description…”

"Indeed, Elf. Your kind - _joorre_ \- mortals - created it as a weapon against the _Dov_ Our _hadrimme_ , our minds cannot even… comprehend its concepts. You are one of us, but also not, just as you are Elf, but also not. For you, it will perhaps be different." He considered her. “Perhaps.”

“Then, how will I learn it?”

" _Drem_. All in good time. First, I have a question for you. Why do you want to learn this _Thu'um?"_

She debated how to answer. She knew the ‘right’ answer was probably to repeat her earlier statement about Alduin. In the end, she simply replied, “I like this world. I do not want it to end.”

" _Pruzah._ As good a reason as any. There are many who feel as you do, although not all. Some would say that all things must end, so that the next can come to pass. Perhaps this world is simply the Egg of the next kalpa? _Lein vokiin?_ Would you stop the next world from being born?"

“What concern is the next world to me?”

“ _Paaz._ A fair answer. _Ro fus_ … maybe you only balance the forces that work to quicken the end of this world. Even we who ride the currents of Time cannot see past Time's end… _Wuldsetiid los tahrodiis._ Those who try to hasten the end, may delay it. Those who work to delay the end, may bring it closer."

“Perhaps so. Nonetheless, I will do what I can. The prophecy says that only the Dragonborn can stop Alduin."

"True… But _qostiid_ \- prophecy - tells what may be, not what should be. _Qostiid sahlo aak_. Just because you can do a thing, does not always mean you should. Do you have no better reason for acting than destiny? Are you nothing more than a plaything of _dez_ … of fate?"

“At least one other member of my family was touched by ‘destiny’, by prophecy, from the mouth of Uriel Septim. I have begun to suspect she was not alone. And yet, I do not know if I believe in Destiny. I think perhaps destiny is an outline, and within that, we can shape our own paths. The path I choose to shape, is the one which will lead me to stop Alduin.”

"And so, perhaps, your destiny will be fulfilled. Who can say? _Dez motmahus._ Even to the _Dov_ , who ride the currents of Time, destiny is elusive. Alduin believes that he will prevail, with good reason. _Rok mul_. And he is no fool. _Ni mey, rinik gut nol._ Far from it. He began as the wisest and most far-seeing of us all.” He considered her once more, the great head lowering to within a pertan of her own. "But you have indulged my weakness for speech long enough. _Krosis._ Now I will answer your question. Do you know why I live here, at the peak of the _Monahven_ – what you name Throat of the World?"

She thought. Felt the air. This high up, she could almost feel the magicka flowing through from Aetherius. She concentrated. “Something is… damaged, here. Something powerful occurred which caused that.”

The head withdrew, and Paarthurnax regarded her once more. “Just so. This is the most sacred mountain in Skyrim. Most Sacred Mountain. The great mountain of the world. Here the ancient Tongues, the first mortal masters of the voice, Brought Alduin to battle and defeated him."

“Using Dragonrend, I take it?”

He looked pained, for a moment. “Yes and no. _Viik nuz ni kron_. Alduin was not truly defeated, either. If he was, you would not be here today, seeking to… defeat him. The Nords of those days used the Dragonrend Shout to cripple Alduin. But this was not enough. _Ok mulaag unslaad_. It was the _Kel_ – the Elder Scroll. They used it to... cast him adrift on the currents of Time.” 

"And he is now in our Time, they sent him forward?"

"Not intentionally. Some hoped he would be gone forever, forever lost. _Meyye_. I knew better. _Tiid bo amativ_. Time flows ever onward. One day he would surface. Which is why I have lived here. For thousands of mortal years I have waited. I knew where he would emerge but not when."

She frowned, considering his words. When she said nothing, he continued.

" _Tiid krent_ , as you perceived. Time was… shattered here because of what the ancient Nords did to Alduin. If you brought that _Kel_ , that Elder Scroll back here… to the _Tiid-Ahraan_ , the Time-Wound… With the Elder Scroll that was used to break Time, you may be able to… cast yourself back. To the other end of the break. You could learn Dragonrend from those who created it."

“Oh.” She was starting to feel light-headed, the air so high up felt… Thin. “Very well. Do you happen to know where..? No, I did not think so. Thank you, Paarthurnax, for the _tinvaak_.” 

As she turned to leave, he offered her one more thing. As the sun moved toward the horizon, she knelt, hands in her lap, as Paarthurnax led her through yet another meditation. 

"It is called 'Force' in your tongue. But as you push the world, so does the world push back. Think of the way force may be applied effortlessly. Imagine but a whisper pushing aside all in its path. That is _Fus._ ' Let its meaning fill you. _Su'um ahrk morah_. You will push the world harder than it pushes back."

***

Kaidan felt the bed stir, and a warm shape settle beside him. In his half-sleep, for a moment he was afraid it would be the bard, Lynly, though she had shown no interest before, indeed, had congratulated him when she saw him and Nerussa together. But no, as she moved closer, he smiled, he knew this shape so well, fitting perfectly against his own.

"We were supposed to meet you tomorrow, weren't we? Three for 'back tomorrow'."

"It was a nice night. The moons are getting close to full. I felt like a walk." He kissed her cheek, winding his arms around her, smiling as she nestled into him. 

"Well, I'll not complain. We cleared that barrow Willhelm's always on about. I'll tell you in the morning, though. Sleep now, yeah?"

He chuckled to himself as he realised she was already asleep. He wasn't far behind.


	118. Chapter 118

When they awoke, the innkeeper and the few others in the tavern were in a sombre mood. It seemed poor Narfi had been found dead in the early hours, by Klimmek. Frozen to death, it seemed like. Nerussa crossed the river to pay her respects as best she could, and left a small contribution to the cost of his burial. Kaidan looked grim, and she remembered his telling her about how his guardian had died - exposure, on the steps of some Temple, looking for drink.

On the way to Autumnwatch Tower - the location Arngeir had confided to her before she had left High Hrothgar - she explained what she could of the past few days, if only to clear her head.

“So, the leader of the Greybeards is a Dragon? Did _not_ see that one coming. And we need an Elder Scroll? How splendid! You know, thirty years ago, my father could probably have helped with that.”

“Oh, yeah,” Kaidan cut in. “Didn’t they have a big library of the things at the White-Gold Tower? Vanished, supposedly, after the War finished?”

“That’s about the size of it! Thirty years ago, we could have hopped across the border, marched up to the Imperial City, and borrowed the one we needed.” Lucien looked thoughtful. “They’d have resisted, of course, but we could always have pinched it when they weren’t looking. It’s been done before, although I don’t have to tell _you_ that!”

She looked blankly at him. “Didn’t you say your Great Aunt was the Grey Fox, as well as the Champion of Cyrodiil? Well, it was never proven, of course, but all signs pointed to the theft being the work of the Thieves’ Guild, and it would certainly make sense that a Hero - sorry, Heroine, I suppose - would be the one capable of it, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh. Yes, come to think of it, Äelberon mentioned the Guild in Bruma believed she was involved in that. I think she may also have hinted about something along those lines in one of her letters. I really need to index those more thoroughly, there’s probably all kinds of things I’m missing… But, the Scrolls vanished?”

“Yep! Gods only know how, or why. But they’re like that, the Scrolls. They have a will of their own. My father always used to say that - he worked with them, for a while.”

Kaidan glanced at Lucien as they walked. “Right, but what actually are they, then? Not exactly something that’s cropped up a lot in the books I’ve been reading.”

“ _That_ is a very complicated question that I’m nowhere near qualified to answer. They’re… old. And _weird_. Sometimes they tell you the future, and sometimes they tell you the past. And sometimes, they drive you mad. The people at the College seem like the most likely lot to have an answer that would actually _help_ , why don’t we go and ask them, after your… other thing? Maybe see if they’ve finally got the Big Glowing Orb Thingy back from Saarthal, yet.”

She nodded. “Yes, I think that’s probably the best move. Wait a moment, I think there’s someone ahead of us.” Sure enough, as they focused more closely on the path ahead, they saw a small group of lightly-armoured men, standing on some kind of Dwemer structure - it didn’t appear to be one of the usual large, imposing stone entrances their cities had, but the architecture was clearly Dwemeri in design. Curious, they drew closer. The bandits - obviously they were bandits - drew their weapons and shouted threats, but the group did not slow. 

As the fray began, another figure stepped out from behind one of the Dwemer arches, not overly imposing, but wearing an unusual set of Dwarven-metal armour. Nerussa was so distracted by the design that she almost took a nasty hit to the face, but brought up her Ward, just in time to shock her assailant into pausing mid-swing. Right, focus. Finally, when the fight was done, she was able to better examine the armour.

“Lucien, come and look at this. He’s about your height, wouldn’t you say?” Lucien came over to see what she was talking about.

“Well, that’s simply fascinating! I’ve never seen Dwemer armour like this before. I wonder if it’s genuine, or simply worked from their alloy…” They stripped the bandit who had been wearing the set, and Lucien looked genuinely conflicted. “It does look highly protective, for the weight of it, as well as the potential historical interest, but, well… It has come from a dead bandit?”

“Tell you what, let’s stash it here, and collect it on the way back, between us, we can carry it as far as the carriage, and you can get it cleaned up and fitted a little more closely to you by Lod.”

He nodded, and they continued on. She felt a little disorientated after the fight, and decided to cast her Guiding Wisp spell. The small, light greenish blue orb danced happily in front of them for a moment, then darted off ahead, seeming to look around at her when she hesitated.

Following the Wisp, they quickly found the right path again, avoiding a group of armoured skeletons, and reached Autumnwatch Tower before the sun was all that high in the sky. A pair of Imperial towers, one short and wide, the other more typical in proportion, were set into the rock, almost looking as though they had grown there. A large, greenish-grey Dragon sat atop the taller tower, gazing curiously at them.

“We are not here to fight you, unless you force our hand. I simply seek the Word of Power that lies here.” She didn’t expect the Dragon to acquiesce, but as it had not immediately attacked, she thought it was worth a try.

“Ah, it is you. I cannot allow you to pass, unchallenged, _Dovahkiin_. Were you a true _Dov_ , you would not suggest it.”

“No? No room for _tinvaak_ on your tiny tower? Then, I shall follow protocol and demand you greet me as _Dov_.” The Dragon tilted its head.

“You are serious, tiny _lir_? Are you as mad as Septim was?”

She grinned, tightly. “I’m Altmer, so most likely, madder still. Come, greet your tiny, insignificant sister.”

It adjusted its position, moving forward to crane its neck toward her. “Very well, _lir._ If nothing else, you are bold. _FO KRAH DIIN_ ”

As it spoke, she had been focusing on the amulet of Mara, sitting around her neck, nestled by Kaidan’s talisman. She remembered Dinya’s words, back in the Temple, on her last visit to Riften. Mara had granted a blessing, greater protection from magickal attacks, which she could draw on when she truly needed it. She had felt less affected by some such attacks from the day she had returned to the Temple after her encounter with the spirits on Whiterun’s plains, but the true effect required some focus. 

It wasn’t that the cold enveloping her didn’t hurt, but it hurt far less than it normally would have - whatever her perceived deficits, she had her people’s weakness to Destruction and other magicks, along with their greater ability to draw on the magicka in their surroundings. She steeled herself against it, let it wash over her. She had warned Kaidan and Lucien of her intention, and was relieved that they resisted the urge to do more than prepare for the coming fight.

The Dragon glowered down at her. “Perhaps there will be some sport in this, after all. Very well, _joor_ , it is your turn, in accordance with tradition.”

She bowed, slightly. Perhaps the creature had a point… _”FUS RO DAH!”_ She was glad of Paarthurnax’s meditation on Fus, feeling far firmer on her feet than when she had used the full Shout before. The Dragon’s head snapped back, a look of shock on its face. Gathering itself once more, its wings unfurled, and it slowly, almost languidly, left its perch. 

Nerussa charged her spells, and nodded to the others.

***

It was already dark when they arrived in Falkreath, but the forge was still bright, and they approached Lod. “I’m no Dwarven-metal expert,” he said, “but I can certainly clean this up, do something about the fit. If you get some cloth from Gray Pine Goods, I can replace those parts, too, better than trying to clean off the blood. Probably take a couple of days, though, I’ve got other work on. That do you?”

Lucien grinned and shook the Smith’s hand. “Wonderful, we’re in Falkreath for a few days, so that’s perfect.”

They settled into the tavern, Nerussa trying not to look too carefully around, not wishing to make her disappointment that Äelberon wasn’t waiting for them too obvious. Not that she had exactly expected it, but… She was frustrated that he had simply gone without explanation, once more. Had hoped that he simply had something to take care of and would meet them in Falkreath. 

***

She rose early the following morning, bathed, and set off. She had been given a location, of sorts, by Nocturnal. The image of a map, glowing behind her eyelids, with one particular spot brighter than the rest. She had her own map, now, Lucien having insisted on replacing his original map with one for each of them, both annotated - somewhat less extensively - in his careful, neat hand. She checked it as she approached the stables, and tucked it away in the loop on the side of her pack. 

“May I hire one of your horses?” The stablehand nodded, and named a price. A little steep for the day, but she wanted to be back in Falkreath before sunset, and this would help a great deal. She made her way into the Reach, following the map, and her memory, and found the house in the late morning. She was ushered inside by an Imperial woman, young, but not as young as Lucien, she thought.

“Finally, you’re here! My family has been waiting for generations, Dragonborn.”

“You were waiting… for me?”

“Yes! You, specifically. Relative of the Champion. Dragonborn. You. Please, let me introduce myself. I am Seviana Umbranox, and this is my husband, Luvien.” She indicated a slightly older man, sitting at a table, darning socks. “We are the keepers of the Arrow of Extrication. Please, make yourself comfortable, this may take some time.” She sat in one of the two chairs by the fireplace, and Nerussa followed suit. “Tell me, how much do you know of your Great Aunt’s time in Cyrodiil?”

“Bits and pieces. I’ve read her letters, though I plan to go over them again soon. I know she was the Gray Fox, if that’s what you’re asking?”

“Quite so. Well, her predecessor, Count Corvus Umbranox, was my ancestor. When your relative was preparing for her own end, she entrusted an artefact of Nocturnal to Corvus, asking that my family keep it safe, awaiting your arrival.”

Nerussa blinked. This was… a lot to take in. “Aunt Estoril was… a seer?” It wasn’t a total shock, Senna had gifts in that vein, and Nerussa had always suspected they were stronger than she ever let on. But there had been no indication of it in the letters she had read, nor in any of Senna’s whispered tales.

“Mm, perhaps not exactly. But the women in your family are… perceptive, sometimes, yes? She was also spoken to by Uriel Septim VII, a seer in his own right - it may be that he told her more than was overheard by the Blades who recorded those events. Regardless, I am to give you the Arrow, and send you to continue your journey, to retrieve the Cowl.”

Nerussa took the offered item, a slim, wooden case, just the sort of size to fit a single arrow. It was just barely short enough to fit into the smaller, lighter pack she had bought in Falkreath. “I am sorry, I’m… a little thrown by all this. What precisely am I expected to do?”

The Imperial patted her hand gently, and smiled. “You must travel to the Mausoleum of the Champion of Cyrodiil. No, no not the ‘official’ one _in_ Cyrodiil. The true one. To find the Mausoleum, you must think, and proceed, as a thief.” She passed Nerussa an iron key. “This will unlock the first gate. Do you have a map? I can mark your initial destination. From there, it will be up to you.”

Nerussa wordlessly handed her the map, and she quickly marked a spot in dark ink.

“Now, one last thing. Nobody is to go with you on this journey. I suspect you have already gathered this, as you came alone, but perhaps someone is waiting to join you in Falkreath. They will be unable to pass through the gate opened by that key.”

“Very well. Thank you.” She stood, could not think of anything further to say, and left.

“Shadow hide you, Dragonborn.”

***

She rode slowly back along the road, past the dress shop where they had met with the Blades, avoiding the temptation to head inside to buy something pretty. She needed to travel light. Her eye was caught by a striking looking Nordic structure on the other side of the river, and she decided to take a closer look. Tethering the horse outside the shop, she found a relatively safe path down to the water, and cast Waterstride. 

The structure was populated by Forsworn, their strange tents and totems scattered here and there as she climbed, invisible, toward the top level. She caught fragments of conversations, something about a new Briarheart being created. At the summit, she heard the chanting of a Word Wall, and as she approached, she saw an altar in front of it, where, indeed, two Hagravens were engaged in some kind of ritual. She watched, nauseous, but fascinated, for a time, hidden in the undergrowth nearby, trying to tune out the Word Wall. Finally they were done, and they escorted their new… pet? away. The chanting and glowing light subsided as she grew closer, and she felt the new Word, _GRON_ , Bind. The final Word of Become Ethereal, though she had not yet fully realised the second Word of that Shout. It was among the Shouts Paarthurnax had offered to meditate on with her, she remembered that much. 

Cautiously, she left the shelter of the Word Wall, and approached what had really caught her eye. Ahead, at the end of a small bridge, was a structure about twice her own height, an archway of sorts, with a beak-like protuberance at the front. A small, rickety, wooden platform jutted forth from the end of the stone, and she stood as close as she dared, her hand on the stone of the arch.

Kneeling, she spent some time focusing on _ZII_ , the second Word of Become Ethereal, using the discomfort in her knees as a way into the meditative state. When she was done, she stood, took a single, slow breath, and leapt.

_FEIM ZII!_

She felt herself losing form, her hands in front of her as she fell were hard to perceive - not invisible, but almost ghostly. She was afraid the effect would wear off before she reached the shallow pool below, but she landed in the water without disturbing it, moving quickly to the steps leading out, and cast Invisibility just as her physical form restored itself. Useful, but also a little terrifying, as Shouts went. As she returned her attention to her surroundings, she realised a ghostly form stood in front of her.

 _“Been a long time since someone took the leap. Longer still since any survived it. I once performed the entirety of the Poetic Edda from atop Bard's Leap before trying my luck. Well, you can see how that turned out.”_ The apparition faded from view, and she headed quickly back to her horse, noticing with relief that, it seemed, Ethereal clothing did not pick up water, any more than an Ethereal body caused waves.


	119. Chapter 119

**9th Morning Star, 4e202**

I am sitting in a long, narrow stone hall, staring at a… Portal? There is a circular wall, lower than the cuff of my boot, and when I poked the bust of the Gray Fox (which I could swear was not here when I first walked the length of this hall) light poured out of the centre. It’s very… pretty. Kaidan sometimes says, most often when I use my Stoneflesh spell, that he never knew magic could be so pretty. Well, although I have always found certain spells and effects rather beautiful, I suppose I feel the same way about this. 

There is a narrow, central pillar of bright pink light, with shades of orange and red eddying around, the whole effect is larger than the space defined by the pillars surrounding the circular well. I wish I had some way to record it, beyond my own, rather lacking, words. I think it’s reasonable to be nervous of getting closer. The bust itself was not here when I first walked the hall. However, I don’t have much other choice. It’s, essentially, this or the Twilight Sepulchre, or the Evergloam, for eternity.

I have tried not to think too much about the obvious, when it comes to Kaidan. However much we love each other, however much of his life we spend together, unless I meet an untimely end (which, well, is certainly far from impossible, given… Everything - Aunt Estoril must have been younger than me when she died, if Seviana was correct about that), it will be his life we spend together, not our lives. Well, I can learn to cope with that idea - Senna only had a few years with her love, and he was most likely a Mer, even if I’m right and he was not Altmer. But the idea of being shut off from any potential - however faint - of finding him again in the next life… That fills me with horror. It’s not, of course, the only thing that makes me want to reclaim my soul, but it is something to cling to, when I am not feeling brave about this whole endeavour.

Okay, ‘Neh Ru Sah’, enough stalling...

***

There was a curiously cold sensation, and then she was simply somewhere else. Standing on a high, narrow, stone walkway, glad of the darkness. She had ended up riding with Kaidan following close behind, up to the location Seviana had given her, and the moons - nearly full - had been high overhead when he had finally relented and headed back to Falkreath. She had a pretty strong suspicion she would not be leaving the way she had come, so there was little point him ‘freezing his arse off’ waiting there, not to mention the horse needed returning to the stable.

So, it was probably some time around midnight, she thought, trying hard not to look down over the edge. She moved quietly forward, and examined the base of the identical bust which sat on a short pillar jutting up from the side of the walkway. “Think as a Thief should, or you will never see home.” She turned invisible, and moved cautiously forward. 

The walkway led her into a small cave, and she stuck to the shadows as best she could, climbing onto the stone ledge on one side of the room, and finding a small strongbox as she reached the end of it. It contained a number of high-quality (as far as she could judge) gem stones, which she slipped into one of the leather pouches she had bought in Falkreath and fixed to her green and brown embroidered dress. She touched the spot under the dress where Kaidan’s talisman lay, and pressed on. 

Soon, she came to something she was almost becoming used to, now - an entrance to a fort of some kind - similar to the Imperial forts of Skyrim, but she thought perhaps the bricks were of a different type of stone. In a cave. She sighed. For all she knew, that was perfectly normal back in the Isles, too, but it seemed so… Silly. Still, at least this didn’t appear to actually be a whole fort inside a cave. Beyond the entrance, she found herself in some kind of cellar, chests bearing more valuables. She selected only the items which appeared to be of high value, and small enough to easily slip into her pouches - a handful of gold coin, a ring, a small piece of carved jade - and moved on. “Think like a Thief,” well, she wasn’t entirely sure what that was supposed to mean, but in her case, it meant “don’t be greedy, don’t take more than you can carry, and if there’s a huge pile of gold, just take a handful, they’ll never even notice a difference.” The only exception was a journal she found, shoved in an artfully ‘casual’ manner into the contents of one of the chests.

Ignoring the ornate silverware in the last room she came to - not that valuable, compared to how much of her pack it would fill - she picked up a key, and headed back to the locked door she had found. She was very confident with most locks, but this one had looked like the type of delicate mechanism that simply wasn’t worth trying to pick - if you messed up, you might well be unable to get it open at all, even if you found the key - and she wasn’t exactly able to break the door down herself. Given there had been no portal behind her when she had emerged onto the walkway, well. Only way back was forward. Just as bloody well there had been a key, really.

She was… not really prepared for what was on the other side of the door. At first it still seemed fairly ordinary - a simple stone tunnel, but as she approached the end, the air became warm, then hot. The tunnel opened out into an immense chamber, filled with bright, orange light, and as her eyes adjusted to that, she tentatively approached the edge of the… pit, she supposed, ahead of her. She didn’t really know what else to call it, it had clearly been built into the place, square, stone walls, it must have been around the size of the main Hall of Dragonsreach, she thought. She could not see the bottom, and she struggled to look into it at all, the flames overwhelming her, too bright, too hot. 

Still, the only way back was forward, and she considered the room carefully. In the centre of the edge of the pit, she could just about make out a dark shape - a short platform, leading out over the pit. Beside it was another (or the same?) bust of the Gray Fox. She couldn’t really read what was written on it, though, as it was in shadow, so she did the only thing she could think of.

Her Guiding Wisp appeared, and drifted gently forward, off the edge of the platform. She felt in her pack for the scarf she sometimes wore to keep the worst of the chill off her face, and wrapped it around her mouth and cheeks, its bulk shading her eyes just a little from the intense light below. It didn’t help with the heat, but there wasn’t much which would. She stood on the edge of the platform, and could just make out a faint, glowing white trail leading forward from it, underneath her Wisp. She crouched, and carefully tapped the trail with her boot. Seemed solid enough. Oh, gods, was she really going to…

Apparently so. Gods, she probably should leave this part of the story out, if she survived to tell Kaidan and the others. She did not want to risk overbalancing, so she ended up crawling across the pit, following the trail as her Wisp slowly, cautiously moved, turning to the side every so often - after all, if you’re going to have an invisible path, why make it _straight across_? She felt herself becoming slightly panicked at a couple of points, and paused, head down, eyes closed, bright light behind her eyelids. _Para, vera, nata…_

And then, she was across. She allowed the Wisp to fade, and strode forward, pushing open the door ahead of her, leaning back on it as she closed it. Drying her eyes, she moved forward. The room before her reminded her somewhat of the Cistern - a circular channel of water, surrounding another of the circular walls, with small bridges on four sides. She could just make out the bust of the Fox to one side, and on the far side of the space was a statue of Nocturnal. She stood for a while, allowing her eyes to recover, collecting her thoughts. When she walked forward, a new portal sprang to life, and she swallowed her nerves and walked briskly into it. 

***

She sat with her back against the cool stone, leafing through the two journals she had found. Left by the son of Corvus Umbranox, apparently, who seemedto be the one who had set all the challenges she had encountered. According to the second journal, she was now in Sancre Tor - she couldn’t quite believe some of the things she was reading, and that was the least of them - Alessia’s ancient city, and supposed site of Tiber Septim’s final defeat and ‘ascension to Divinity’. No, the thing that made her pulse race with alarm was reading about Estoril having gone there to retrieve an artefact with Septim’s blood, ‘the blood of a Divine’, as part of the efforts to defeat Mehrunes Dagon. _That_ had certainly never made it into her letters, and it was clear why. There had been enough risk in what she had sent, but any slight suggestion of… _that?_

Rubbing her hands across her face, she thought for a moment. She should rest. It was clear no living soul was in this place, and if there were ghosts or undead, well, the way forward seemed quite narrow, she was reasonably well defended. Setting her bedroll on the floor, she pulled out the tunic and breeches she had borrowed from Kaidan, to sleep in. She was, at her heart, a simple creature, of simple comforts, and right now, what she needed was a reminder of the strong, gentle man, waiting for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 'Guiding Wisp' mentioned here is from this mod https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/35464 - replaces the vanilla Clairvoyance spell (for those who don't know, the vanilla spell is simply a beam of swooshy light that follows the navmesh in the general direction of your active quest for a few feet at a time) with a pretty, dancing wisp that boobles along to your destination until you get there, or dismiss it. Unfortunately, it kinda hecks with the 'use Clairvoyance to find the secret path across the pit of DOOM' part of the Gray Cowl of Nocturnal quest mod ( https://www.nexusmods.com/skyrimspecialedition/mods/4509 do check the mods that list this as a requirement, some good stuff there) so in gameplay I basically had to use TCL to get across. Narratively, though, I can have the Wisp be a little less zippy! It's still a lovely little mod, and I wouldn't go back.


	120. Chapter 120

It took Nerussa a few moments to remember where she was. Straightening up, she sent the ‘doing all right’ signal with the Resonant Sphere, and pulled her hair back, tucking it into some semblance of a bun, using the spare leather tie Kaidan had lent her. She wore her Illusion robes - she had a feeling she was going to be using Invisibility a lot, so it made sense to have it take less out of her - and packed everything else away. 

Squeezing out of the narrow passage to the small room where she had slept, she looked around. There was a locked gate, with no nearby chain or lever. Eventually, narrowly avoiding setting off a tripwire or two, she found the lever, set into the wall in a small side chamber. Beyond the gate, she made her way through a tunnel and into another small room. This one held, of course, a bust of the Grey Fox, and an old - well, presumably Third Era, or very early Fourth - map of Cyrodiil on the wall above a table littered with empty wine bottles. 

For a minute or two, she debated taking the map for Lucien, but when she eventually decided she might as well, the parchment in the corner where she touched it began to crumble away. Disappointed, she noticed a faint line around the stone next to her hand, and gave it an experimental prod. It sank quietly backwards, into the wall, and she heard a faint clanking sound somewhere in the ruin. She returned to the other locked gate she remembered seeing, the night before. 

It had raised. Good. Beyond it was another bust, facing a set of four keyholes, and surrounded by five wooden doors, each across a short walkway from a central, circular platform. 

Setting her pack on the floor by the bust, she headed for the first door on the left. 

***

"That is a _lot_ of blood…" The voice drifted to the road where Kaidan walked, returning from hunting on the plains. He followed the sound to where a man in studded hide armour sat, swaying slightly, on a log. Putting down the deer carcass he'd slung over his shoulders, he approached the man, cautiously.

"Everything all right, friend?" The man looked up at him, dazed, and Kaidan looked him over. Bad gashes covered his arms, and there was a nasty dark stain on the light fur covering his stomach. "Sorry, daft question. I'm no healer, but I've a potion in my pack, should be enough to get you back to Falkreath, and I've a friend there who should be able to help."

The man nodded, weakly, and took the potion Kaidan offered him. Grimacing, he swallowed it, and Kaidan was relieved to see him looking a little more alert, the gashes beginning to knit together. "Come on, friend, let's get you to town, yeah?"

"Wait! I appreciate your help, but I can't leave, yet. Not with my friends' bodies in there, being torn apart by those beasts..."

"Beasts?"

Another nod. "We tracked a bear to this den. Good coin for those pelts. We had the big sow cornered when they showed up. Three of them, out of nowhere. Spriggans. Niels went down before we even knew to run. Ari died just inside. I never even thought the things were real." He began to get to his feet, looking as though he planned to head back inside the nearby cavern.

"I tell you what, why don't I go inside, deal with the problem, and you can come in when it's cleared. I don't feel right, letting you fight when you're not fully healed…" To his relief, the man sat back down, and gave another nod. "Take my spare waterskin, this one, and here, some bread and cured meat. I'll be back, soon."

Inside the cavern, he finished off the two surviving Spriggans, and a couple of bears. After checking no more Spriggans were lurking in the shadows, he headed outside and brought the man, who introduced himself as Valdr, to his friends' bodies. Together, they cleaned up the bodies as best they could, laying them side by side, ready for Kust and Kaidan to return later and move them to the Hall of the Dead for burial. 

***

Pickpocketing ghosts was certainly an odd experience. They were more of an impression of the person in life, the armour and so on merely part of the whole. And yet, somehow, she was able to slip a hand cautiously into… something, and come away with a perfectly normal, heavy, solid metal key. 

By the fourth room, she was almost used to it, but she wouldn't mind never trying it again. She retrieved her pack, and fit each key into its lock, before carefully turning them in succession. The final door swung slowly open, and she walked through it, standing between two large, stone coffins.

The names didn't mean much, but she recognised the date on both coffins - the day Aunt Estoril had woken in the Imperial City Prison, and been freed as the Emperor made his way through a hidden passage. The gate ahead would not budge, but after some time she glanced up and spotted a small handle set into the ceiling. It was just too high, but a small hop was enough to grab it and yank it down. Passing through the gateway, she found another portal. Another cold moment and she found herself in…

Oghma's _tits_.


	121. Chapter 121

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Gray Cowl as a mod to play, but some aspects of it don’t… totally make sense for the story I’m telling, so I’m tweaking as I go. (This was probably obvious from the introduction where Seviana knows that Nerussa is the Champion’s relative?) The biggest change, though, is that I can’t really see any way that the Coldharbour section makes sense. Great fun for gameplay (and very satisfying when you get through without any fighting, as I did - pretty horrible if you do get caught, though, those things hit HARD) but I just… There’s no way Bal would be like ‘oh, hello, friend of Äelberon, have fun, yeah, you can totally leave!’ So, I’ve cut it. More or less.

The cell was small, and damp, with crumbling bricks and a set of manacles hanging from the ceiling. Sitting on the floor was a faint, blue shape. She cast her invisibility spell again, and moved to get a better view. The ghost was that of a young Altmer with short hair and an eerily familiar face, wearing rags, angrily hugging her knees, glaring through the bars at someone only she could see. 

More ghostly figures appeared, walking into the cell. One pointed at… At the Altmer, and seemed agitated. Finally, a tall, human-seeming spirit, stately, wearing what were clearly, even in this ethereal form, very elegant robes. He beckoned to the Prisoner, and they exchanged words she could not hear, before the entire group simply walked through the wall, vanishing.

She blinked, remembering just in time to cast invisibility again. There was a guard outside the cell, patrolling the corridor, passing every minute or so. She caught sight of a red gleam in the beam of light from the tiny, barred window, and crept towards it. Waiting until the guard had just passed, she quickly grabbed the gem - shoved into the mortar - and pulled, vanishing once more. 

The gem crumbled in her hand, and she felt something strange, a sort of hum in that hand. Experimentally, she charged the first spell that came to mind, and saw an unfamiliar pink glow appear. Sighing, knowing this was something else to probably leave out, she cast the spell. To her right, the wall where the ghosts had disappeared simply blinked out of existence. Only way back was forward, so she hurried through, relieved that it only blinked back when she was safely in the passage beyond. 

For a while, she walked through a grey, forgotten hall, smooth arches set into the walls at regular intervals. Finally she found herself at a dead end, a heavy gate, rusted into place the only way forward that she could see. Swearing, she tried checking for loose stones around the gate, but no. Her hand hummed once more, and she frowned. Casting the spell once more, she saw one small corner of the wall simply vanish, in its place a crumbled pile of stones, a space just big enough to squeeze through into a narrow passage.

She remembered one of Aunt Estoril’s letters where she had alluded to her escape from prison - she hadn’t gone into great detail, but it seemed this path began as the one she had taken, yet at some point… Diverged. Winding around, somewhere beneath the Imperial City - goodness, she supposed she wasn’t far from Lucien’s home! - she made her way past goblin and rat skeletons, eventually finding herself in the cellar of some old fort. Ignoring what looked to be a Shrine to Clavicus Vile, she took the stairs leading further down, past another delicately locked door. 

Behind a locked gate, she found a chest with more valuables and another journal. This one didn’t have a lot to say, merely reflected what she had already observed, but she stashed it in her pack, anyway. Seviana would likely be interested to read these, although she might make copies for Auryen’s library… 

Next, she pulled a series of levers behind walls and gates which vanished with the strange new spell - seemingly having been added more recently than… whatever time the spell reverted things to? She found herself fairly baffled by how it was all working, but nonetheless, oddly enjoying herself. Finally, she gained access to a narrow staircase, leading down into a treasure room with - of course - another Bust of the Gray Fox. She filled another pouch with gems and rings, and carefully slid the most exciting find yet into her pack, for later examination. And, sure enough, a key.

The door, now unlocked, opened into a finely decorated room, the main feature of which was a long, narrow dining table, covered in an ornate cloth, atop which sat four candles, each bathed in a different colour of light, with no obvious source. A note on the inevitable Bust held a simple list, indicating without outright saying, which order the candles should be lit. “First comes the light of the sun…” She assessed the colours - she supposed the brighter, greenish light must be ‘sunlight’, of the four, so that was the first to be lit. Two of the lights seemed rather similar, but she chose the paler of the two - ‘candle’ - next, and the deeper - ‘fireplace’ - third. Finally, the colourless light representing ‘the light of the Moon.’ Holding her breath, her free hand moving to Kaidan’s talisman without really thinking about it, she pulled the handle in front of the Bust.

Ahead of her, a section of the wall began to descend, behind which she could make out a cavern with an Ayleid structure partially buried within. At the centre of the structure, she saw what she remembered Saltar describing as a ‘Well’ - when active, they could be tapped to replenish one’s Magicka and even enhance one’s total casting ability for some time. Most useful to an Atronach like Saltar or Senna, so she had generally deferred to him on their journey, but the one time she had tried to tap one such Well, she had indeed felt quite electrified for some time. 

This one was dark, however, and she felt that strange hum in her hand once more. Casting it brought that pink and red light of a portal, and she braced herself before stepping forward. 

***

“Obviously, the Jarl is an utterly odious little man, Kaidan, but I think it might be worth playing along. Nerussa needs as many friends in high places as she can get, yes? Well, Falkreath isn’t _that_ high, but it’s now the closest settlement to both Pale Pass and the border with Hammerfell. I think it would be well worth having our little group well-regarded by the local Jarl, even if he could also do with bringing down a peg or two.”

Kaidan sighed, but he didn’t argue. “All right, Lucien, we’ll go to this Bilegulch Mine tomorrow. You sure you weren’t just bored today, though?” 

Lucien caught his smirk and grinned sheepishly. “Well, I may not have had quite such a productive day’s study as I anticipated, no. Can’t help but worry about Nerussa. I’m sure she’ll be fine, but it’s all a bit vague, isn’t it?”

“Aye, you’re right there. Why do you think I buggered off at dawn? Keep moving, keep the thoughts at bay. Course, if it had come to it, and she’d signalled she needed us with your Sphere thing, I’m not sure I wasn’t too far away to hear that war horn if you blew it… Probably better if we stick together tomorrow, then, eh?”

Lucien nodded. Just as they finished speaking, he felt the Sphere in his pocket buzz - twice for ‘all is well’. He took it out, smiling when Kaidan looked nervously at him. “Don’t worry, all’s well, just letting her know the same is true here.”

***

She was alone in this new place. She had explored as far as she could without beginning to unravel the puzzle of gates and levers, and collected every cushion she could find, before setting herself up in a small corner of the place, and signalling to the men that she was still fine. She changed back into Kaidan’s clothes, and slid the Mark spell tome out of her pack. Banned under the Levitation Act, Lucien had said. Well, it would be somewhat useless without a Recall spell to use with it, but she was still excited to see if she could learn it at all. She leafed through it briefly, before setting it aside to have something to eat and drink. She was fine for supplies for another day, she thought, but after that, well… She would just have to hope there wasn’t too much longer before she could restock.

It was warmer here, and the cool, tiled walls gave her the impression that wherever she was, outside would be warmer still. She wiped her hands clean, and picked up the spell tome once more.

Her dreams that night were unsettling, a dark, freezing cold place, she was on an island, trying to evade red creatures in dark robes. Daedra..? A booming voice echoed around the place, and wherever she went, she could always see the curious structure at the centre of the place. When she woke, she did her best to sketch the thing in her mind’s eye - Lucien had given her some basic instruction on sketching, over the past few weeks. She was never going to be an artist, that had been made abundantly clear to her in her education, as so many things had been. Still, as Lucien had pointed out, one did not have to be a great artist to be able to sketch simple representations of the things one saw. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough, although part of her wanted to rip the page out and tear it to shreds.


	122. Chapter 122

It was no good, he couldn’t get back to sleep. Didn’t like the thought of her by herself, the gods - or Daedra - only knew where. The lack of a proper door on the bloody room didn’t help, neither, as the Bard and the Innkeeper were already awake and preparing for their day. He sighed, and sat up, reaching for his pack. What was the book she’d lent him, this time? _The Argonian Account: Book One_. He’d enjoyed the first series well enough, but this one he hadn’t really got into, yet. Still, it was better than lying awake, fretting. 

A few pages in, a piece of paper fell out of the book. “Crafty girl…” He read it, a soft smile on his face, and tucked it away carefully in the small notebook he had started to use. Gods, she was almost painfully sweet, at times. He read a few more pages of the book, but his eyelids were finally starting to feel heavy, so he put the book on the table, and let himself drift off.

***

She was definitely getting frustrated. What was even the point of this? There was no great skill involved, just a lot of running back and forth, using silver goblets she’d collected in one area to mark where she had already been. Except, she hadn’t thought of that initially, so she’d probably pulled the same lever several times. After what felt like hours, during which she finished the last of her provisions, she was finally able to get through the gate in the first room she had appeared in.

Her pouches were starting to get heavy, and she thought she might need to sort through them and discard some items before long. There were worse problems she could have, she admitted. She had picked up another of Caio’s journals, too. Mostly talking about various artefacts Aunt Estoril had procured, this time. Passing through the gate, she exhaled in annoyance. More bloody gates? Wonderful. 

She took a break to clear her head, signalling with the Resonant Sphere once more. This time, at least, she started off right, having gathered up the goblets and marking her progress from the start. It went much more smoothly, as a result, and only ended up taking half an hour or so before she could progress. 

This time, the newly opened passage led into a large room, another statue of Nocturnal, another Bust. Something of a difference in that these were ringed with lit candles, and a strange, red haze flowed around the area. Beyond the statue, she could just see another gate. The Bust was on a table, next to a dark orb, and a chest. Another inscription on the Bust - “find the stones of Temptation and choose your way.” To either side of the table, lay a small passage leading to an inscribed glass circle. One glowed with blue light - another portal, she was certain, although she was curious about the different colour. She emptied most of the contents of her pack onto the table - she had a pretty strong feeling she was going to need the space - and stepped into the blue light.

She returned an hour or two later, her pack weighed down with three stones, one faintly red, one blue, and one green. She wasn’t totally sure what the ‘temptation’ was supposed to be, but she supposed it was to do with the fact that the final of the three Centurions, each guarding a stone, had taken a swing at her - she had been a little too slow with her Invisibility spell - and it had barely hurt at all. Imperviousness would, she supposed, be tempting, but not compared to abandoning the chance to annul her Oath to Nocturnal. The other portal was now lit, and she examined it carefully. A plaque, which she was quite sure had not been there before, simply read ‘return home’. She raised her eyebrows, and headed back to the table. The stones fit neatly into the chest, and she carefully packed her things away before placing both hands on the dark orb. Ahead of her, the gate opened.

***

She stood, blinking, in the sudden dry heat and bright sunshine. Gods, it might actually be hotter than summer in Alinor, if only for the lack of sea breeze. She stripped off the short-sleeved leather coat she had been wearing and pulled at the collar of her woolen tunic. Pulling off the Boots of Springheel Jak, she shoved them and the jacket into her pack as best she could, and pulled her own boots back on. Those things would take some getting used to, and this might not be the time for boots that made her move so much faster than normal. Shading her eyes, she walked down the sandy rocks, heading for what looked like a gap between the great, natural stone wall around where she stood. 

Gods, she really hoped she was near somewhere she could refill her waterskin, if nothing else. Swallowing the last mouthful - already unpleasantly warm - she pressed on, through a narrow passage between the rocks, sweat already plastering her tunic to her back. As she emerged into the desert proper - dark, golden sand stretching toward more rocks in the distance - a man ran up to her. 

“Who are you? Where did you come from?” It was all she could do to remain upright, she was entirely not dressed for this type of weather, and he expected her to talk? She pointed back the way she had come, hoping he would know there was only one thing that could mean.

He stared for a moment. “Truly? The Halls of the West? Then that can only mean… Ah, but you look unwell, my friend. Come, we are not far from my village, you can rest and have something to eat before we have to concern ourselves with what this means.” He introduced himself as Arenar Esdrecus, and they walked close to the towering rock wall which appeared to surround the entire area, taking advantage of the little shade it offered. 

Finally, they were inside a cool, stone building - Imperial forts were, it seemed, about the same wherever they were built, though this was a mixture of imported rock and the local sandstone, by the looks of things. She sat on the floor, leaning her back against the wall, and gratefully accepted a tankard of water and a plate of food - some kind of small grains, mixed with spiced meat and vegetables. When she had finished, and rested for a while, Arenar returned.

“You look much better, my friend. I have brought you a change of clothes - something more suited to our climate, yes? But first, I would be grateful if you would accompany me to meet Lady Syloria.”

She nodded, and stood up, putting the plate and tankard on a table nearby. The food had been rather fantastic, and she was curious as to how they fed themselves - all she had seen was a small area of fertile land, packed tightly with vegetation, as far as she’d been able to see, the rest was arid. Were there even animals here?

Shaking her head to clear it, she followed the man - Redguard, or Imperial, she wasn’t entirely sure - up the stairs and into what looked to be the private quarters of the leader of the settlement. 

“Lady Syloria, the Dragonborn has come!”

The woman turned to her, arms folded, and gave her an appraising look. “Well, you certainly fit the description of the Champion, aside from your skin tone, of course. Still, I must see further proof. You should have with you the Arrow of Extrication?” 

Nerussa, still somewhat struggling with words, simply slid the case out of her pack and opened it in the woman’s line of sight. “By the gods, it really is you! Well, then, Dragonborn, welcome to our little settlement. We have been waiting for you, nearly two centuries.” She paused, drew breath. “Forgive me, we had begun to suspect it might be close to the time, but I never entirely believed it, I am a little overwhelmed. Our mission here may be almost at its end, as we prepare you to reach the Mausoleum. But please, you should get more rest before we talk. Arenar will show you around, if you wish. When you are ready, I will be here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (The 'grains' are actually couscous, something along these lines, most likely https://howto-cook.net/recipe/tunisian-couscous/ )


	123. Chapter 123

**12th Morning Star**

It seems I'm in a hidden corner of Hammerfell, among a tiny community set up two hundred years ago as my Great Aunt's dying wish, in order that I be able to carry out a series of challenges and ultimately reclaim her most prized artefact, the Gray Cowl of Nocturnal. 

All this, in order to annul my Oath with said Prince. Quite some coincidence… I presume I will need to return the Cowl to the Ebonmere, although I'd be quite happy never to go back there. 

In any case, I do now have the option to return to Skyrim - there is a portal, used by the people here to visit Falkreath, where they hunt and trade with the locals for supplies. I plan to stay until my main task is complete, at least, but it's nice to know that I _could_ go now.

I have spent the evening, aside from speaking with Syloria - the leader of the settlement - reading through the Mark tome I came across, in the tiny house I bought for a pouch full of gems. Think I may have overpaid, but I genuinely don't know if I'll be able to carry everything back to Skyrim at this rate, so it's fine. 

The trader sold me some more suitable clothing for the weather here - a great relief. Traditional Hammerfell clothing, not dissimilar to some of Senna's warm weather clothes. Brightly coloured, loose-fitting, and covering most of my skin, meaning the small bottle of lotion I bought to protect my skin from the sun should be more than enough for my face, neck and hands. I also picked out a couple of pretty scarves, and plan to wet my hair before wrapping it. Another of Senna's old tricks. 

Practicing my sketching, I've tried to capture the house - Moonlight Home, it's called. Frustrated by how childish the picture seems, but Lucien says the point is to record, and I think it's decent for that. The house - a single room, really - designed to be cool in the day, without being too cold at night. No bed, just a lovely nest-like arrangement of pillows and cool blankets. Giving serious thought to replacing my own bed, but I suppose Kaidan might have some objections to that… Maybe I’ll write him another letter. First, a list:

  * Ultimate goal is the Mausoleum (Estoril’s). This is accessed via the ‘Oasis of Mora Sul’.
  * To get inside, I’ll need a key, which is hidden somewhere in a temple named Al Shedim. Very dangerous, apparently. Of course.
  * Also need an amulet to prevent the wildlife in the Oasis from ripping me apart. Lovely. This is found in a valley known as the Lair of Ancestral Cheetahs. Amulet also necessary to enter Mausoleum once inside Oasis. Beginning to suspect Aunt Estoril may have been a bit mad.
  * Plan to tackle Al Shedim tomorrow, which appears to be at centre of valley.
  * So far, have not needed any of the potions I brought with me. Will limit self to vial belt for tomorrow, no sense weighing self down. Two health, one magicka.



***

“So, we’ve dealt with his ‘bandit problem’, and now the Jarl wants us to clear Helgen as well? Thought that place was being kept up by the Legion? Sure he’s not leading you up the garden path, Lucien?”

“Oh, I’m quite certain that’s his intention. But, we have witnesses - not just his courtiers, but that nice Arissa woman - and he very clearly said that if you and I ‘restore order’ to his hold by clearing the place out, he will appoint me Thane. As I said, it will serve Nerussa’s interests well to have influence - either in her own right, or through her close companions - in as many courts as possible.” Lucien looked closely at Kaidan. “You, of course, would be a better fit for one of the more… Martial holds. They’d be far more impressed by a man like you, than one like me. Siddgeir, though, he’s a man who likes to think of himself as smart, and men like that, they like to think they’re outsmarting… Well, men like me.”

Kaidan’s face broke into a grin. “Can't fault your logic, there. Glad you’re on our side, mind. Imagine a Lucien Flavius, on the side of evil…” He shuddered, with a little dramatic flair, making Lucien chuckle. 

“Not much chance of that, thankfully. The only appeal I can see would be the melodrama, and, well, I get plenty of chances to show off already!”

Kaidan laughed, and took a swig of his drink. “So, Helgen tomorrow, check on Riverfall and the dogs in the evening, then back here to see if there’s owt new on the bounty board?” Lucien nodded, and got to his feet as his pocket made a faint ‘buzz-buzz’. 

“That’s the ‘all’s well’ signal, which means I can head to my room for the evening. I’ll see you first thing, Kaidan!”

***

Feeling very glad of the cool mass of damp hair piled under the scarf on her head, Nerussa crossed the dunes toward the immense Temple of Al Shedim. Towering, precisely square walls surrounded her as she entered the courtyard of the place, and she found a shady corner to sit for a few minutes. As she got settled, she took one of her two waterskins, and used some of the contents to soak the white pouch the trader had given her for the other. She hooked the pouch over one of the sturdier fronds of a nearby palm tree - the trader had claimed this process would help cool the water inside the skin. She wasn’t entirely convinced, but was happy enough to spend a few minutes in the shade, taking in the beauty of the structure, and of the palm trees themselves. 

When she finally took down the skin, the water inside was indeed noticeably cooler than it had been, and she took a careful swallow before approaching the entrance to the Temple proper. Flanked by brightly coloured towers, there was no door, simply a passage leading into the darkness inside. Casting invisibility, she moved quietly inside, narrowly avoiding bumping into a patrolling skeleton. 

She was rather concerned to note that there were inscriptions in Daedric script on the walls of the place - perfectly normal, had this been Morrowind, but unusual, to say the least, in Hammerfell, from what she knew. Still, there were no obvious signs of Daedra worship, so perhaps it had simply been a useful alphabet, much as she encrypted certain passages of her own journal in that script? Frustrated that she would probably find no answers, she moved on, carefully avoiding the skeletons and, later, mummies, not to mention the large, square pressure plates along some of the passages.

Soon, she came to a small, dimly lit chamber, the entrance to which was flanked with two large plaques bearing the Daedric letter Geth. Inside, beyond two rather larger skeletons, she found a chain and pulled it, turning invisible once more and sneaking back out. Gradually, she progressed through the Temple - at one point she slipped up and walked into the line of sight of a skeleton just as her Invisibility wore off, but she managed to cast again and run far enough away that by the time they caught up, she was pressed between the wall and one of the many large pedestals around the place, topped with a burial urn. As her heart rate slowly returned to normal, she wondered vaguely what Lucien would make of the place. 

Two more chains, in two more chambers, marked with Bedt and Doht, enabled her to progress into the largest, most ornate chamber yet. Sarcophagi along the side walls contained more mummies, sleeping, at least for now. In the centre of the space, a set of stone steps led up to a plinth, holding four pull handles. The wall beyond it held three large, stone circles, each bearing four letters of the Ayem Bedt. Raising her eyebrows, she pulled the three closest handles in turn, until Geth, Bedt and Doht were uppermost. Brushing her hand quickly over the spot where Kaidan’s talisman lay, she tugged on the fourth handle. Sure enough, the middle section of the wall ahead of her began to slide smoothly down into the ground.

The tiled passage quickly gave way to a more natural one, orange-coloured stone walls leading down into a dark cave, lit at the far end by candles which surrounded one more sarcophagus. As she approached, remaining invisible, the occupant arose, and began patrolling, brandishing a lethal-looking weapon. The mummified creature was easily taller than Kaidan or Äelberon, and she pushed away the thought of either of them for now. No time for distractions. Beyond the sarcophagus she saw a stone casket on a plinth. Cautiously, she approached, readying her Invisibility spell, glancing over her shoulder to be sure the creature was looking away as she slid her hand into the casket. Clutching the key within, she clicked her fingers and ran, glad that she had worn the Boots of Springheel Jak in the end.


	124. Chapter 124

"There is room in my court for a new Thane. It's an honorary title, mainly, but there are a few perks someone like you could make use of. However, I could only grant the title to someone who is known throughout my Hold. You help my people, and I'll make you my Thane."

Kaidan stood watchfully behind Lucien, playing the part of brooding bodyguard. Arms folded, glowering over the shoulder of his ‘boss’, and he’d made sure to stand somewhere that the red eyes would really stand out, should Siddgeir deign to look him in the face.

“Very well, my Jarl. I will return tomorrow. Many thanks for your gracious audience” Lucien gave an exaggerated bow - Kaidan was amazed the young man in the ornate robe could not tell he was being mocked - and walked away from the throne, pausing to loudly admire the large, spotted cat lolling on the rug.

Helgen had gone well, all things considered. The bandits had clearly taken the small Legion patrol by surprise, more than anything, and had been easily subdued, between the pair of them. All had been well at Riverfall, the two dogs excited to see them, but clearly disappointed when Nerussa did not show up. So, they were back in Falkreath not long after nightfall, rattling around the tavern after speaking with the Jarl.

“Help his people, eh? Wonder what sort of thing he means…”

“Oh, you know, probably nothing overly involved. A few hours’ free labour at the mill, help an old lady with her shopping, that sort of thing.”

Kaidan grinned, and took a swig of mead. “Suppose it’d help if I offered to do the mill part, would it? No offence, like, but I’ve not seen you chop wood yet, and I’ll be amazed if this is when you start…”

Lucien puffed himself up briefly, then grinned. “Well, you may have a point. Probably best if you keep your shirt on, this time, though - no Nerussa to impress…”

He thought back. “What, at Heartwood? I bloody never took my shirt off! Just my cuirass, and that’s just… practical.” 

“Oh, of course, my mistake. I wasn’t really paying attention, talking to Nerussa, you know. Must have been thinking of her reaction.”

“Cheeky git. Sure you want me to put in hours of backbreaking labour tomorrow, are you?”

***

**12th Morning Star, Hammerfell**

Sitting on the roof terrace of Moonlight, under the light of Masser and Secunda - full, I believe. It’s finally starting to cool down, an hour or two after night fell - a little later here than in Skyrim, of course. I’ve spent the last hour practicing meditation, various methods - staring at the flame of the lantern downstairs, counting breaths, and so on. The lantern was… interesting. Started to feel sort of… swooshy. Not my favourite, but could have some uses. I think for the general purposes the Greybeards explained - helping me to cope in bad situations, basically, although they didn’t quite put it like that - counting breaths is probably the way forward. Keep it simple, and something I can do anywhere. It’s funny, I definitely felt calmer when I was running from that big bastard mummy below Al Shedim, than I would have expected.

Really wish I had some way of contacting Äelberon - Ronnie? Not sure, after he vanished. I hope he’s all right. I wish he had just said something to Kaidan before he left. I hope he wasn’t too disappointed in me. Collapsing like that. He must think I’m so weak. Or perhaps I’m being unfair. I don’t know. Spiralling thoughts, a little, so going to put the book down and count breaths…

Better. Not totally, but an improvement. Getting there. So, tomorrow. Lair of the Cheetahs. Pity I’m not still affected by… whatever it is that happened after I read all the plaques on the way up to High Hrothgar. It was rather nice, not having wolves bother me on my way to the Eye of Cyrodiil, but the wolves here certainly aren’t friendly, any more. Hope this amulet really does work, don’t especially fancy ending my days in the stomach of a bunch of cats. 

Then, if all goes well, Middas will be the Mausoleum. Need to remember to bring the Arrow of Extrication. Honestly have no idea what I’m supposed to do with it - well, shoot it at something, I’m sure, but… to what end? Will it just open some vault, so I can take this Cowl? Seems… unlikely, I think. 

As for tonight - I think I’m close to completing my study of the Mark tome, so I’ll try and push through with that after I visit the bar for something to eat. No idea where I’ll find a Recall tome, and of course, Mark is near-useless without that, but I could still cast a Mark if there was somewhere worth returning to, and figure out the rest later. But first, food.

***

Kaidan, on reflection, really wished the miller in Falkreath proper had needed the help. There was something… very unnerving about this Hert woman. She was over-familiar in a way that unsettled him far more than usual, and he was glad Lucien was back in Falkreath. Sort of. At one point, she put her hand on his arm, and her skin felt like ice. He did his best to be… affable, that was the word, but he was extremely glad when he’d finished his work and could make his excuses and set off for Falkreath once more. 

Lucien seemed to have had a better day, and had picked up one last job from the Priest of Arkay. “I think this is probably an all-day task, though. Sunderstone Gorge - quite a large system of caves, and he’s somehow lost a journal in there. I’d like to help him, though - he’s…” Lucien checked over his shoulder, but nobody was in sight of where they stood, on the outskirts of the town. “Ex-Thalmor, I think, but doing his best to atone.”

***

The Lair of Ancestral Cheetahs, in the end, only took an hour or so of the following day. By lunchtime, she was back in Ben Erai, staring at the strange amulet, and the key, and trying to decide whether to make the trip to the Oasis of Mora Sul a day early. Deciding against it, she locked the items away, and went for a wander around town. The trader showed her a simple linen skirt and a silk bandeau wrap, as the sandstorms of the past few days seemed to have settled down. “Those robes you’re wearing are very practical, but perhaps you would like something pretty?”

She couldn’t quite seem to resist, not with so many gems and so much coin in the little chest inside Moonlight, and she found herself buying a pair of leather arm bands to go with the outfit - after all, who knew how long it would be before she was somewhere warm enough to wear such things again…

The rest of the day was spent resting, meditating, working through the last of the Mark tome, and testing the spell itself. As far as she could tell, it was working. At least, nothing blew up when she cast it. Signal before bed, and off to sleep.


	125. Chapter 125

Crossing the desert to the east, first thing in the morning, was not ideal, Nerussa thought. The sun's glare was hard, and she had to keep her eyes down, the scarf on her head shading them a little. Finally, she reached the sandstone walls surrounding the Oasis of Mora Sul. The gate was utterly ordinary, and the lock seemed weak, but somehow she was sure she wouldn't have been able to pick it, if she hadn't brought the key. 

The Oasis itself was beautiful, filled with green, wild growth, palm trees, ferns, and even a pool filled with cool, clear water and lily pads. The cheetahs here were far more relaxed than those in the lair, though she was glad of the amulet, nestled next to Kaidan's talisman. It was a nice change, not to have to sneak invisibly around, and she took a few minutes to sit by the water, trailing her hand across its surface, while her waterskin cooled. 

She crossed the grass toward the building ahead of her, enjoying the feeling of the soft, cool blades brushing against her legs. As she approached, the great, marble slab, emblazoned with the symbol of the Dragonborn Emperors, began to descend. 

***

"So, you think the mill owner is a _vampire?_ "

"I dunno. Yeah. Maybe? Definitely something off about her, but she looked… Normal. Not overly attractive like that Movarth, just ordinary. If she's a vampire, surely the Jarl would know… Well, maybe not him, but his steward seems to have her head screwed on, so maybe she's not, right? Either way, I'd rather we cut across country, rather than going along the road, if that's all right?"

Lucien looked at him closely. "Well, if she's unnerved _you_ , I'm certainly in no hurry to run into her. All right, we'll take a different path." 

Kaidan gave him a tight smile, and grasped his shoulder quickly. "I appreciate it, Lucien."

The grass was covered in frost, leaving damp patches on Kaidan's breeches above his boots, a reaction to his body heat that he had never quite got used to. They walked through the forest giving the Mill a wide berth, and arrived at Sunderstone Gorge before too long. Inside, they were surprised to find the body of a Dunmer in dark, musty robes. 

"Hmm. Someone's here already…" 

***

She sat, cross legged, the backs of her hands resting on her knees, looking over the edge of the rock where she sat. Below was a steep drop, and she was fairly sure the thick, green vegetation would not cushion the fall an awful lot. Beyond lay a pyramid, grey tiles covering it, with a small opening at the centre of the nearest side. The Mausoleum where her great aunt's remains were kept. Senna had never known for sure what had become of her baby sister, though she had always spoken as though Estoril had died long ago. 

Sighing, she stood, and prepared herself as best she could. She could probably have found a path down, but it was clear what she was supposed to do, much as she could have likely jumped across the gap in the Halls of the West with the Boots of Springheel Jak, but using Whirlwind Sprint seemed the obviously 'correct' choice. 

_FEIM ZII!_

She leapt, seeing her own ethereal hands flailing in front of her, though she couldn't feel them. Gods, this Shout was still terrifying, although there was a little exhilaration mixed in, this time. She relaxed her body as best she could, remembering to soften her knees as she grew closer to the ground. Not a bad landing, she thought, her body coming back to physicality just as her feet touched the ground, one hand touching the earth between her feet. 

Inside the Mausoleum, she walked along cool, polished sandstone halls, lit by some kind of permanent Magelight spells - enchanted, maybe. The halls opened into a large chamber, dominated by a statue of Nocturnal, with paintings on either side of what Nerussa dimly recognised as Cyrodiilic buildings - a simple farmhouse, and the Anvil Fighters’ Guild - gods, she had been there with Saltar! 

More paintings covered the walls of the next chamber - each simply labelled. “The Spymaster,” “The Arch-Mage,” “The Hidden Heir,” and so on. The one which really caught her eye, though, was of a large, stone archway - resembling the Oht of Daedric script - with flames pouring into its centre. She had seen a few of these - long inactive, but still darkly menacing - around the landscape of Cyrodiil and Skyrim. Those in the Isles had long since been destroyed, by any means necessary, along with much of the truth surrounding the events of the Crisis, of course. The Thalmor had been quick to claim credit, and the people had been all too prepared to afford it to them. Certainly no word of the Champion’s involvement had ever been allowed to be known, still less that of Martin Septim - even Aunt Estoril’s letters had been deliberately vague on that point, although she had managed to get a better understanding of the Imperial version of events from Lucien.

After a while longer, she came to a low, stone table in front of a set of double doors. On it, beside the inevitable Gray Fox bust, was an ornate bowl, holding the largest diamond Nerussa had ever seen.

"Unleash the thief in you." Sighing, she crouched down, casting Invisibility and pocketed the stone. The doors began to swing slowly open, revealing a vast chamber, filled with pale, pink light. One side of the space held a large, sandstone block, and she gravitated towards it. _Champion of Cyrodiil_ in letters the size of her hand. 

"Here lies Estoril. Champion of Cyrodiil. Hero of Kvatch. Arch-Mage of the Arcane University. Notorious Gray Fox. Great friend of Martin, last of the Septim bloodline. Instrumental in the end of the Oblivion Crisis, known to her own people as the Great Anguish. Beloved wife of Vilja of Solstheim."

She sat for a while, reading the words again and again, before copying them into her journal and turning to face the other prominent feature of the room. A narrow wall, at the midpoint of which was a glowing blue-green circle, similar to the portal bases near the Stones of Temptation. A few paces from where she stood was a plinth holding a simple, wooden hunting bow. 

She opened her pack, withdrawing the case holding the Arrow of Extrication, and carefully uncorking the Potion of True Shot she had bought in Falkreath. Kaidan had given her some simple pointers on how to actually hold and aim the bow before they had set off to the Eye of Cyrodiil - it had seemed pretty likely she wouldn't simply be expected to deposit the Arrow somewhere, after all. She lifted the bow, and took the Arrow from its case.

She was surprised to find - presumably due to the potion - that she was able to nock the Arrow quite confidently. Breathing slowly and steadily, she took aim at the target opposite her. Drew the string as far as she could - further than she would have expected, though she had noticed a little more muscle in her arms of late - and let the arrow fly.

A familiar voice rang out.

"This is the part where I say something about cheese, isn't it? Fine, fine. _Cheese for everyone._ Welcome, Dragonborn. So nice to see you again!" 

***

After passing several more dead warlocks, they finally found someone who might be able to give some answers. A young, dark haired Breton in the same filthy robes, bound to a wooden chair in a small living area. She glared angrily at Kaidan when he approached, but didn't refuse to talk. 

"Some damned massive Elf, came storming through the place. Hafshor and Llemalin tried to take him on. Idiots." She pointed to two bound, unconscious figures on the floor. "I was only just waking up, and I'm not ashamed to say, I tried to hide. Saw me, though, obviously. Said he didn't have time, got to get to the Great Chamber, but he'd be back. So, I'm waiting." She rolled her eyes.

He and Lucien looked at each other. Äelberon? Certainly sounded like him. They left the girl where she was, and pressed on.

***

A door had opened, and looking through made her dizzy. This was certainly not the Alik'r. Not Cyrodiil, either, though it appeared to be… mimicking it? Although, not overly accurately. She was fairly sure the real Lake Rumare did not have ships floating above it, for example. Nor did she remember the narwhals.

She was on a bridge, in any case, and what you did with bridges was cross them, and so she did. A great bow from the snake-eyed gentleman, this time in the same style of purple and orange outfit that she had been wearing when she first encountered him. 

"A mortal! Wait! A mortal I know. _My_ mortal! What are you doing here, mortal?”

“I’m…”

“Yes? Speaking to me? She is me, I am she. And… others, as well. Or, they were. Weren’t they? Yes, yes, of course I know who you are, and who you were, and who you’ll be! Why are you _here?_ ”

“I was told I’d find the Gray Cowl of Nocturnal here, left by the Champion of Cyrodiil..?”

Snake-Eyes laughed, clutching at his stomach. “The Champion? Ha! Wonderful! Time for a celebration! Cheese for no one! That can be just as much a celebration, if you don’t like cheese!” He grinned, too broadly, at her. “You’ve run the maze like a good little mouse, but no cheese for you, just yet. Well… Maybe a little. Oh, but you’re just like she was, I was, we were… Still don’t recognise your Auntie Sheo, little Elf?”

She shook her head. “Sorry… I’m… not really sure what you’re expecting from me? I only had one Auntie, and she’s…” She pointed back the way she had come.

“Ah, yes, the Champion, friend of Martin, and Corvus, and the others. Not Lachance, though, strange, she eschewed him… Such a pity, great fun, that might have been!” He paused for a minute, seemingly listening to… Something. “A voice… In me. She’s not me, but she’s in me, she _is_ me. What’s that? _Get out for a moment_? Me? _Yes, you._ But… _Get out!_ ”

He rolled his serpentine eyes, and raised his eyebrows. “Oh, fine, calm down! I’ll get off, but just for a moment… I’ll pay a visit to the Isles for a moment. Haskill opened the damn door, didn’t he? Oh, _Haskiiiiill_...”

She blinked, and Sheogorath was gone. In his place was… The ghost she had seen in the cell. 

“Great Aunt Estoril?”

Gods, she could see what Äelberon had meant. The phantom was a little shorter than her, and had cropped hair, and clearly would have been golden-skinned in life, but… It was like looking at her own reflection.

Estoril bowed, less deeply than Sheogorath had, but still quite flamboyantly. “At last, little Rilli is here! No, wait. Not _Rilli_. Little _Russi_. A fine change, from a fine Mer. And of course, your own good self! I knew a Nerussa, once. Old soak, but gave me a good price on some rare wine. So, you’ve cottoned on, yes? I am he and she is me, and all that claptrap?”

Nerussa sighed, and nodded. “So, how did it happen?”

“Oh, who cares? Very boring stuff. Well, no, a grand adventure, but two centuries ago, dear girl. The Shivering Isles, Jyggalag, everything and nothing. Chaos and Order, in perpetual… Thingummy. All that matters is I mantled that snake-eyed old goat, and that meant I couldn’t stay. Still saw Vilja, every so often, but it… Well, wasn’t the same. The Gentleman with the Cane, although of course, not so much _man_ , in any sense of the word. Couldn’t bear to see Linni again - your Senna. Besides, one of us, never ageing, well, that can be put down to good breeding and money. But both of us? And both… implicated in certain events? Well, the Thalmor would never have allowed such things.”

“Implicated? I mean, I know what _you_ did.” Nerussa frowned in concentration, trying to follow the slightly nonsensical speech.

“Not my story to tell, little Russi. But be patient. All in good time. Your Senna has an awful lot of it! Come, I’ll tell you my own story, if you like - the real version, not the official Imperial one!”

***

Lucien was the first into the 'Great Chamber', a few paces ahead of Kaidan. Äelberon was speaking to two mages on a raised platform at the far end of the room, Kaidan couldn't make out the words, but it seemed as though the Elf was trying to convince them to surrender. Beyond them, the top of a Word Wall was just visible, along with the vaguest suggestion of… Someone. A distressed someone.

It seemed the mages were not interested in being reasoned with. One summoned a Storm Atronach, while the other began to resurrect a series of nearby corpses. Lucien and Kaidan ran into the fray, as Äelberon flung a spell at the Atronach, returning it to Oblivion. The Summoner swore, and pulled a knife, evidently having wasted most of his Magicka on the spell. Äelberon, seeing the mages had largely turned their attention to the two men, moved out of sight, toward the Word Wall. 

The mages fell quickly to Kaidan’s sword and Lucien’s magicks, Lucien focusing on the High Elf, Kaidan on the Dunmer. They climbed the stairs to the platform, and found Äelberon speaking softly to a frightened young woman - more of a girl, really, probably no more than fifteen. He carefully untied her binds, and cast a healing spell over her bruised wrists, checking her as best he could for further injury, without causing her additional distress.

“You did not need to involve yourselves, younglings.”

“Meant no disrespect, Äelberon, but they were rather advancing on us, didn’t give us a lot of choice.”

The Elf scowled, but said nothing. Probably saving it for when there wasn’t a terrified girl about to collapse against him. “Lucien, you should copy down the Word Wall if you are able. Nerussa has not been here, has she?”

Lucien nodded, his notebook already in his hand, having found Runil’s journal . 

As Kaidan moved closer, he saw that Äelberon was not in a good way. Dark circles under the flame-bright eyes, like bruises on his pale skin, and his face looked thinner. Kaidan frowned, but held his tongue, hoping Lucien would be too absorbed in his task to notice. 

Silently, the group made their way back outside, collecting the captives as they went, the girl blinking away tears when she realised she really was away from her ordeal. Äelberon instructed the two men to remain with the captives while he escorted the girl to her home - Granite Hill, a small settlement at the nearby crossroads. Kaidan nodded, and put a hand on Lucien’s arm, to still any protest he might make. 

When Äelberon and the girl were gone, Kaidan turned to a rather huffy Lucien. “Look, I know, we were only trying to finish our own task, but the fact is, we intruded on Äelberon’s bounty, and that’s… Well, not _good manners,_ so to speak. He’s been doing this, what, nearly as long as you, me, and Nerussa put together’ve been alive. For comparison? I’ve been taking my own bounties less than a decade. You don’t go barging in on someone else’s job. We should’ve left, or waited for him to be gone, and gone in to fetch the journal. Only didn’t because, well, she’d’ve bloody killed us if we had, eh?”

Lucien chuckled. “Well, I shall defer to your greater experience, Kaidan. Let’s just hope he does come back, be a terrible shame if we offended him _and_ didn’t even bring him back to Falkreath…”

“Aye. He’ll come back.”

***

After listening to her story, Nerussa followed Estoril back through the chamber and into a portal room. “In a few moments, this portal will take you to a place forgotten by all - maybe even the gods, and that’s no bad thing. It will bring you to an area, isolated from the rest of the world, inaccessible to everything and everyone. There you will find the Gray Cowl. You have understood, I think, that you are to return it to your Mistress, in exchange for… Well, her not being your Mistress? This was the bargain we made. We, and me, and he, and she.”

She nodded, finally starting to get her head around the strange speech patterns. “Thank you, Estoril. For everything.” 

The eyes began to shift, and the form seemed a little less ghostly for a moment. “You’re not talking to me, now. He’s not me. We’re he. She is…” She blinked. “You’re going to be… amazing.”

And then Snake-Eyes was back, one last bow, deeper than any courtier in High Rock, and a click of the fingers and he was gone. The stone portal frame hummed to life, pale green and pink light swooshing, a deep hum emanating from inside. She shook herself, and moved forward.

***

Back in Falkreath, after handing over the captives to the guard, Kaidan guided Äelberon into the tavern. “Lucien got the signal, on the way here. She’ll be back tomorrow, so you may as well wait, yeah? She’ll want to see you. Want to know you’re safe.”

Äelberon didn’t say much, but didn’t make any move to leave, either. He had brought Koor and Allie back from Granite Hill, with him, and Kaidan was relieved to see they were still in fine fettle. Clearly something was amiss, but he didn’t want to pry. He knew Äelberon had told Nerussa that he and Lucien could also call him by his family name, but to Kaidan, it seemed perhaps that had been more for her sake. He liked the Elf well enough, and her high opinion of him counted for a lot, but he didn’t feel there was that… bond, yet, that would make such a thing appropriate, from his understanding of it. Hell, he still called Nerussa by her full name, and wasn’t really sure if that was right, or not, now he thought on it.

He stripped off his plate, and began cleaning it, keeping an eye on the Elf who was doing the same. Lucien came over with two bowls of stew, deposited them on the table by Kaidan, and headed back to the bar for a third bowl, which he put in front of Äelberon. Kaidan was surprised to see the Elf nod, and mutter some sort of thanks. 

After the meal was done, and all armour properly treated and set away for the next day, Äelberon crossed the room. Standing in front of them, he held out a coin purse, which Kaidan took.

“Your share of the bounty. Split it as you see fit.” Lucien began to protest, but Kaidan shushed him, getting a small, surprised chuckle from the Elf.

“Appreciate that, Äelberon. Hope you’ve split it fairly, don’t want no charity from you.” He caught a slight bit of that twinkle in the Elf’s eye, at that. They exchanged gruff nods, and Äelberon went to the bar, handing over a few coins for the bathing room key.

“Why on earth didn’t you stop him? We barely did anything.”

“Not the point, Lucien. To him, he didn’t complete the job as requested. Two daft lads stuck their oars in, and - don’t huff, compared to him, we are a pair of daft lads. Stuck our oars in and honestly, could have ruined the whole thing. If there’d been a third mage up by the girl, for example? Don’t bear thinking about. But, nonetheless, we get our cut, and it would be very poor _etiquette_ to refuse.”

***

**14th Morning Star**

I think… I may be in Akavir. Estoril didn’t say, but… It’s certainly unlike any part of Tamriel I’ve seen, or read about. Even Valenwood and the Black Marsh. The structures beside me are also, well, strikingly similar to the architecture of Sky Haven Temple. I’ve done my best to sketch everything, the great, palm-covered mountains peeking through the mist, the small buildings nearby, the tattered lanterns hung from the structure holding the urn where the cowl was waiting for me. It looks like childish scribble, but hopefully it will help Kaidan to picture what I’m seeing. I’ve also… Set my Mark here. Surely there must be some way to Recall us both here, although of course then we’d have to get back to Tamriel, somehow. It seems to be early morning here, which must mean it’s getting quite late in Skyrim. I’ve taken a couple of fallen leaves, and a blossom from the tree behind me, and put them between the back pages of this journal. I _will_ get him here, some day. Even if we can’t go any further. It looks like a very steep drop...

I know Senna used to travel by teleportation all the time, on Vvardenfell. I remember her telling me about the Mages Guild transportation system - basically, people who would send a person to another Guild Hall for a fairly nominal fee. So it can’t be all that *difficult*, it’s really more a matter of finding some way of applying it to us both, and getting us back again. Scrolls, perhaps. I wonder if Auryen would know anyone who can do that… He gave us that scroll for the Bell Hammer, after all.

Well, in any case, I think I’m finished on this little adventure. I think I heard the portal begin to hum again, when I picked up the Cowl a moment ago, not sure where it’ll take me, I suspect not back to the Mausoleum. Time to find out, I suppose.

***

“So, a Thane, are you?” Lucien had been surprised, and pleased, when Äelberon had rejoined the pair of them after his bath. He chuckled, ruefully, at the question.

“Not exactly my personal ambition, but I think it will be beneficial for Nerussa to have more… resources to call upon. When it comes to that time.”

Äelberon stood, gave a small, amused bow, and reached for his pack, taking out his pipe and a small pouch of herbs. He held them up, and quirked a smile at the two men. “Is this all right? Just a little Elf Ear, although I rather think Russi thought it was something a little stronger…”

“Oh, that’s fine, of course. I was going to ask if Valga could brew us all up a nice pot of tea, if you’d like some?”

“None for me, Lucien, I’m fine with a mug of mead, if you’re buying,” Kaidan grinned, clearly more relaxed now he knew Nerussa would be back in a few hours.

Äelberon, busy lighting his pipe, nodded at Lucien. A moment later, as he was approaching the bar, he heard the Mer’s deep voice behind him. “Plenty of milk and honey, if you please. Actually, just bring the bloody jar and the jug, I will pay the extra.”

When the tea arrived, Lucien saw why he had said it.

“Bit of tea with your honey and milk, Äelberon? Think he might have a sweeter tooth than Nerussa, eh, Lucien?” Kaidan grinned amiably, and set his mug down.

Äelberon took a sip of his tea, and added yet more honey. “I apologize for my earlier behavior. I can be gruff at times. I mean no offense.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, Äelberon, you should see the moods Kaidan gets in, sometimes. Although, well, less frequently these days!” Kaidan chuckled, and nodded.

“Aye, right enough. We had a few fallings-out in the early days, too, eh?”

“Indeed - I think that sort of thing is just a natural part of learning to be a group, really. To a varying degree, I think both of us clicked better with Nerussa, for example, and then there was Rumarin. You met him, briefly, Kaidan, what did you think of him?”

“Er… not much, to be honest. Seemed a bit… shifty?”

“Yes! I think he had… designs on Nerussa, but, well. I don’t think he would have suited her at all. Anyway, Äelberon, he was in our group, at the start, before Kaidan, or Lydia, and, well, I suppose this isn’t such a good example, given he and I never got past the bickering part, but anyway. Point being, it’s fine if you’re sometimes not in the mood for a cheery chinwag, I suppose?”

Äelberon looked up, sharply. Lucien had rather worried that he was boring the Mer to sleep, but suddenly he was very alert. Outside, they could hear the horses in the stables whinnying, Äelberon’s Allie the loudest among them, and Koor was whining, straining against his master’s grip on his collar. And there was something else. As he concentrated, he heard what must have drawn Äelberon’s attention. A distant beating of wings, and a sudden roar, answered by a familiar Voice.

They leapt to their feet, Äelberon and Kaidan grabbing their bows and quivers. Lucien grabbed his vial belt and fastened it around himself, before heading to the door.

Following Äelberon’s lead, they ran through the eastern gate of the city, the sounds of battle growing louder as they followed the road north, past the bandit tower Kaidan had cleared on his way back from taking Nerussa to her destination a few days earlier. 

_“FO KRAH!”_ As they rounded another corner, they saw her. Wearing some kind of summer dress, her hair falling in loose waves, covered in soot, glowing pale golden, and shooting lightning bolt after lightning bolt into a great, green-and-gold Dragon, ice spilling from her mouth. Äelberon and Kaidan both drew their bows, but before they even had a chance to nock an arrow, she had finished the creature off, its death throes fading as its body burst into cold flame, the soul burning away the flesh and swirling around Nerussa.

“Well, fuck, Nordling, my tea will be gettin’ cold.” Lucien tried not to splutter too loudly at such language - from a priest! - and watched as Äelberon turned back towards Falkreath. “I shall have to ask the innkeeper to brew another pot,” he called over his shoulder. “Shall I ask for enough milk and honey for you, as well?”

She just grinned, wiping soot from her face, as Kaidan walked towards her. “I can see you shiver from here, love. Stay close, I’ll keep you warm!”


	126. Chapter 126

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note: features a conversation alluding to a planned suicide, and to extremely traumatic parental death.

They lay back in the hot water, the last of the soot and grime finally washed away, Nerussa leaning on Kaidan's chest.

"I was thinking…" She smiled, and turned her head so she could see at least a little of his face.

"Yes?"

"Well… Äelberon calls you Russi, right?" She nodded. "From what I've gathered, that's… sort of a family version of your name, yeah?"

"That's about right, yes. The version that you'd call a daughter, or a sister, or a close friend."

"So… are there other forms?" He began to sweep her hair over her shoulder, so it didn't get too full of bath oil, and she smiled softly at it all.

"Just one… The form a lover might use." He wrapped his arm back around her waist, making the water slowly lap back and forth for a few moments.

"I see… Would that… be something you'd like me to use?" She turned again, and saw a faint blush on his face. She nodded.

"If you'd like to…"

He smiled softly at her. "I was thinking… would 'Neri' work?" She felt her face and ears turn pink, and knew there were tears in her eyes. She blinked to clear them, but he made a soothing sound, and bent to kiss her softly. "Should I take that as a good sign?" She nodded.

"It's… pretty. I wouldn't have expected that. Not… I don't mean I wouldn't expect it from you, I just… it hadn't really occurred to me 'Nerussa' could be turned into something pretty like that?" He chuckled. 

"Must be your influence on the name… Not sure there's much you can do with 'Kaidan'. Not that I'm… assuming you'd want to."

She smiled up at him. "I would, if you'd be all right with it?"

He gave her an almost unbearably sweet smile. "I would. Feels… Heh. Special, I suppose? Dunno what would work, though. A few people have called me Kai, but I suppose that would be more the 'Russi'?"

She nodded. "Perfectly good and everything, but I'd like to come up with something myself… Aida, maybe? Or is that too feminine?"

He chuckled. "I'm pretty sure of my manhood, sweetheart. If that's what you'd like to call me, I'll answer every time."

She rolled onto her belly, and grinned up at him. "I'll have a little think about it, you know me and words, but I do rather like that…"

***

Leaving the bathing room, they saw Äelberon sitting by the fire, finishing his tea and pipe. He looked up, and smiled at the pair of them. Nerussa saw Kaidan into the bedroom, and whispered that she’d see him soon. Back in the Great Room, she approached Äelberon, who stood. “May I have a word… Ronnie?” He nodded, and indicated the door of the tavern. Yes, not a conversation to have here. She grabbed her cloak and rejoined Äelberon, and Koor.

Outside, they walked through the city gate, and up onto a rocky outcropping which overlooked Falkreath itself, where they sat, silent for a while. Koor sat close to his master, but his heavy head landed in her lap, big blue eyes looking up at her, expectantly. She smiled and began to rub the back of his ear.

“How are you feeling, Russi? You seem… restored.” She looked him in the eye - noting the dark circles, and the hollows in his cheeks - and, yes, of course _he_ could tell. She nodded.

“I… it was a very strange few days!” She laughed, softly, not wishing to alarm the dog. “Nocturnal made me an offer - it turns out, on behalf of… This is going to sound bizarre, although I suspect not as much so to you as to most people. Sheogorath. Who is… My Auntie Estoril.”

“Not sure to be sad or glad at that. Sad that a person who did so much to end a dark time ended up being claimed in the end, but glad that she was able to see you overcome a similar fate. They fight for our souls, you know, scholars have debated on the why for eras. Power? For shits and giggles? But I think it’s to compensate for something they don't have... Love. They cannot love. Not like mortals can.”

She nodded, staring at her hands for a moment. “In any case, it seems _Auntie Sheo_ interceded, and convinced Nocturnal to make a deal. Retrieve the Cowl, finish the mission she set up all those years ago - when you were younger than me, I suppose! And my Oath would be annulled. I still need to return the thing to the Ebonmere, but I believe it has already happened. I didn’t really notice that I felt different, to be frank, but now I feel… Clear. Restored, as you say.”

“You have come a long way from the Vampire Symposium, Nerussa. Going from registration table to slaying dragons on your own is no small feat. I am proud, Russi, truly I am. In a summer dress, no less!”

She couldn’t help her laughter, then, and made an apologetic noise to the startled pup. “Yes, and half frozen - just as well it was a Fire Breather, not Ice… What can I say, I was impatient to be back home, to see Kaidan…” She blushed, and he chuckled, softly, resting his hand on her shoulder, carefully. Probably thinking of the… children like her, that he had known, she thought, and appreciated the care he took, although she was getting more comfortable with being touched, at least by those she trusted. She put her free hand over his, briefly, and was surprised to find it cold to the touch.

“Aye, and rightly so. He is a good man, and you deserve that. I am sorry if I have… distracted you from your reunion?” Well, he might be looking unwell, but at least that twinkle wasn’t totally gone.

Her blush grew stronger, and she chuckled. “I think we’ve… reunited pretty well, for now.” She was more tired than she had realised, imagine saying such things to a Priest of Auri-El. Although, yes, there was his own throaty chuckle in response.

“Glad to hear it, and no need to blush, Russi. I ran into the pair of them, on a bounty. It seems they have not been idle in your absence, has Lucien told you of his new title?”

She grinned, and set her head on one side, looking out over the city. “Indeed. He’s quite the little schemer, hm? I think he has plans for Kaidan to claim a Thaneship, as well. Establishing a greater influence, and all that.” She had been rather impressed, she had to admit. 

Äelberon sighed, taking his hand away, flexing his fingers repeatedly, a familiar gesture of her own, moving then to crack his knuckles. “Your team works well together, Russi. Damn, should have brought my smokes. Give me something to do with my hands. I… Owe you an apology.” She waved her hand, but he persisted. "No. I was wrong to vanish like that. You have enough to worry about without an old fool like me going about, chasing after something that may never happen.”

She fixed him with her gaze. “You are no old fool, Ronnie. And… I am less of a young fool than I may have been not all that long ago. Back in Rorikstead, I believe you mentioned you were looking for Vingalmo, that he was Volkihar - vampire. I take it this was… related?”

He nodded. “It was, Russi.” He sighed, heavily, and she saw again how ill he looked. “Before I killed him, Piquine gave information that I hoped would prove fruitful. It did not, although Lucien’s new subjects should sleep more soundly, with Bloodlet Throne cleansed of Bal’s filth. Nonetheless, I should not have left without saying anything, and for that, I am sorry.”

“Well, I was… in no state for you to say anything. I would ask that you not do the same again, though? If you need to leave, to pursue your goal, I understand, I just need you to tell one of us that’s what’s happening.”

He looked forlorn, gazing out over the graveyard, and nodded, slowly. “I will not leave again, unless you dismiss me. I had…” He scratched Koor’s hindquarters. “I had planned to leave Koor and Allie with you. To… Concede defeat, and maybe give myself the peace I could not give them.”

She looked at him in confusion, then dawning realisation. “You planned… Ronnie, no.”

He laughed. “Well, I _had_ bloody planned it, chickenshit that I am. I am unsure whether you know the reason behind my… vendetta, against Vingalmo? We have not discussed it, but perhaps you know enough to have pieced it together…”

She looked at him. “I know… parts of it. In my… research, before I was sent here. I found the paperwork, the order for the Purge of Dusk. I know he signed it. That would be reason enough, I think, but… there is more to it?”

“Aye, Russi. Much more.” He looked her in the eye, gently. “Did you love your parents?” 

She blinked. Thought. “I… wanted to?”

“I’m sorry, Russi, that you and so many of our people did not have that.” His eyes began to mist, and she could feel hers follow suit. “Have what I had. They were my world. Did you know they were supposed to throw me away? I was Hulkynd.” She drew in a sharp intake of breath. “Aye. I was very sick, as a baby, and by rights,” his voice held more than a trace of bitterness, and she could not blame him, “they should have cast me aside. They loved me and gave me a life that, though poor, was rich, Russi, rich in the things that truly mattered. There was even room for him and he was my brother in every way but blood. And he was their son. But that wasn’t enough for him. Maybe he hated that happiness did not need money or family status. I don’t know. So, he made me do to them… The worst thing a child can do to the people who gave him life.

He paused, and it took a moment for her to understand. “The Purge… Tongue of Xarxes… He… He made you _kill them?_ ”

“He had already turned, but she had not, though they drained her dry.” His voice was far away, and she put her own hand on his arm. “The one lie I have ever told in all my years as a priest was the lie I told her, promising that my Ata would be with her in Aetherius. But I couldn’t tell her the truth. That he was damned forever to that terrible place. I have lived with this for so long, that as you can see, it has made me sick. Perhaps not in body, but in soul. I have good days and terrible days. Koor, my faith, my desire to help others have helped, but even those things cannot erase all of it. I’m not sure if anything truly can and I’m not sure if it even should. The reminder needs to always be there. Perhaps this is why our paths have ultimately crossed.”

He covered her hand with his own. “And then, racing with your menfolk, in our damned shirt-sleeves, toward the Dragon, Kaidan and myself doubtless looking to protect you - your Voice carries, quite well - though I suspect Lucien had more sense on that score. And there you were, covered in soot, Highborn glow enveloping you - whatever _they_ may think of your heritage… Finishing the creature off in your silly sundress, grinning up at your man, having _reclaimed your soul from Nocturnal?_ How could I despair so, in the face of that triumph? How could I slap them in the face by wanting to die? Those that loved me. And yet, I have lived under the shadow of guilt for so long that I don’t know how to live how they would have wanted me to live. I can only watch as you build yourself a new life and maybe from your example, I can learn.”

For a while, no words came. "I… don't really know what to say, Ronnie. I'm so sorry that you felt that way, but if I can in any way help to… light your path back from that edge, I am extremely happy to do so?" 

She tentatively put an arm around his shoulders, and he chuckled. “Not many can reach up there.” He didn’t reject the gesture but he didn’t reciprocate in his usual manner either. It became a pat and Nerussa allowed her hand to fall to her side.

“Aye. I do not imagine that path will be without its twists and turns, Russi. When you have been in the dark for so long, it is not a simple thing to leave. There will likely still be days when I feel deeply, that darkness. And it may be my connection to it allows me to do my duties with empathy and strength. But I am coming to recognise that I may not be able to do it all alone.”

She nodded. “I cannot imagine where I would be now, had I not stumbled across Lucien in Dead Man’s Drink. Kaidan, too, of course, they have both… saved me, so many times, simply by being there, by letting me fall apart, knowing that they will still be there. I can’t claim to understand where you are, Ronnie, but… Well, you saw me in Piquine’s lair. That’s the worst I have been, but I have certainly had my moments. More like in Alfgoll, I suppose.” She sighed, and ran her free hand through her hair. “It is hard, to allow oneself to rely on others, even when they do their best to make it easy.”

Perhaps she had gone too far..? He seemed to stiffen slightly, then sighed. "It is not a matter of relying on people, Russi." She frowned a little, but said nothing. She had gone too far. “I am sorry.” He then chuckled, shaking his head. “I told you it wouldn’t be easy. You mean well, dear Russi, and I should allow you to care. But enough about me. I’ve certainly had enough of my own self pity. I have been hurt, even admitted defeat, but I get up again. What are your plans for tomorrow, Dragonborn?”

"As a matter of fact, Knight-Paladin,” he smiled at the title, the twinkle properly back in his eyes, “we need to head to Sky Haven Temple tomorrow, via a couple of other places. Yes, I see that look. Old Dragonguard place, indeed. I'd be very interested to see if you have any insights on Alduin's Wall - Esbern, the lore master, talked us through it, and Lucien spent a long time sketching and making notes, but you've got… well, probably knowledge they lack?"

“See you bright and early tomorrow, then, Dragonborn.”

She considered. “Well… Not _too_ early.”

He responded with a throaty chuckle, and yes, that twinkle was right back. “Ah yes, that’s right. Cleanliness is _very_ important, after all…”


	127. Chapter 127

The oppressive darkness around the edges of the partially lit space. She had somehow forgotten that. The whispers just beyond what she should be able to hear. She adjusted the small pack on her shoulder, and stepped forward, climbing the stairs, ignoring the creeping sensation of being observed. She paused before the dark portal, adjusted the hood and mask. 

Beyond the portal, she found herself back in the strange, dark space. The Ebonmere itself glowed faintly blue, and she stepped toward it, carefully avoiding the crescent of moonstone embedded in the floor, holding the Cowl, slippery yet surprisingly substantial in her hand. 

“I have completed the assigned task. I have no need of Your Cowl, Lady, and no desire for it. I thank You for Your assistance with Mercer Frey, and I will ensure Karliah and Brynjolf know to find their new Third. I believe this concludes our Transaction.” She held out the Cowl, and allowed it to slip through her fingers into the glowing space below. For a moment, nothing happened, then the Cowl was simply gone. As she had half-expected, the armour began to dissipate, returning to the Shadow from which it had formed itself back in Nightingale Hall. She reached into the pack when it was done, and pulled on her Illusion robes, turning back the way she had come.

***

As they left Sunderstone Gorge, Nerussa having taken some time to meditate on _TOR_ , the new Word she found inside, a great shadow passed over them. Through the trees, they could just make out an immense, dark shape, with flashes of deep red here and there. Äelberon quickly mounted Allie, calling to Koor to follow him.

Without speaking, they followed the Dragon, losing sight of it briefly as they rounded the side of the hill where Sunderstone Gorge lay, but easily finding it again as they reached the road, chasing after it to the crossroads just past the village of Granite Hill. As they watched, the great Dragon - Alduin - brought itself to a hover above where Nerussa remembered having found a burial mound, months ago. 

Dark clouds began to roll in as they drew closer, now in clear sight of the nearest of the three dolmens which lay on three sides of the mound, and Allie whinnied quietly. A great column of swirling light began to climb from the mound itself as Alduin hovered, the rain beginning to fall, making it hard to catch his first words. 

_“SLEN TIID VO!”_ As at Kynesgrove, the hardened earth of the mound burst open, and a skeletal dragon crawled forth, less obsequious than Sahloknir, but still in a submissive posture. 

_“Alduin, thuri!”_

_“Alok, Vuljotnaak. Tiid boaan.”_ Nerussa vaguely parsed that as _arise, Vuljotnaak. It has been an age,_ as she charged her spells. The same reversal of the soul absorption as at Kynesgrove, though the World-Eater did not bother to address her group, this time, instead simply flapping his great wings and flying into the distance, far more quickly this time. No longer wishing to be followed…

Vuljotnaak was a great, muddy-purple and bronze creature, with a pale underbelly and dark horns, curving back from its face. The wings, as they finished forming, were a similar light colour to the underbelly, with purple markings, almost like a net… It glared at Nerussa, briefly, then began to flap those wings, taking off in the direction of Granite Hill. Äelberon, still astride Allie, drew his bow.

 _“We must draw the creature away!”_ He commanded Koor to stay with Nerussa, and rode off in the direction of the village. The three of them ran after him, Nerussa and Lucien preparing Lightning Bolts and Ward spells, Kaidan drawing his own bow. 

_“YOL TOR SHUL!”_ In the distance, she could just make out a group, running from the now-burning farmhouse, in the direction of the tavern. If she remembered rightly, it had a tiled roof. She hoped so. Äelberon bellowed something at the Dragon, and fired an arrow at its neck. The creature roared in anger, and turned its great head to stare at the Mer. _“Do not anger me, little worm.”_

Nerussa judged she was within range now… _“KRII!”_ The head flicked toward her, pale, violet light tracing over its flesh after the Shout. Good, they had its attention. She and Äelberon began moving to the northeast, the Dragon losing interest in the farms and following them, Kaidan and Lucien in their wake, Koor keeping close to her heels. Äelberon turned every so often on Allie’s back, loosing another arrow at the thing, Nerussa and the others firing what they could, when they could.

Once they were decently far from the settlement, the fight began in earnest. The rain was falling harder, and she half-heard Kaidan muttering about Kyne wanting in on the fight… Nerussa glanced up at the sky. Certainly there were worse entities who could involve themselves... Keeping an eye on the dragon, and a Ward spell charged in her left hand, she prepared a new spell - a Thunderbolt of her own, waiting for the Dragon to swoop past her, steadying herself as it did. The spell caught the creature on its wing, arcing through the air far more impressively than her other shock spells, and causing a roar of pain.

She was ready with the Ward as the Dragon turned its head and spat a single Word of Fire Breath at her, shielding herself and the husky. Some distance away, she caught sight of Äelberon, lit by a flash of lightning as he brought the horse around, drawing his bow once more - there was something unusual about the arrow he selected, even at this distance… As it struck the Dragon’s underbelly, she saw sparks erupt, charring the beast’s scales. She tried not to get distracted by wondering if he would teach Lucien how to make arrows like that, and quickly glanced down at Koor. Good, the Ward had kept him safe.

Suddenly, she realised she couldn’t see Kaidan. Looking around, trying not to panic, she caught sight of Lucien, his shiny Dwarven mail making him easy to spot against the dark grass and rocks of the tundra. Another flash of lightning, and she saw him, beyond Äelberon, bent double with pain - gods, had the Dragon taken a swipe at him?? Surely his armour would protect… Although a hard enough hit to the stomach could be bad enough even with armour. _Auri-El’s breath…_ As she looked on, Äelberon’s eyes locked briefly on her - doubtless seeing her stricken expression, and he glanced over his shoulder. Loosing the arrow he had nocked, striking the Dragon once more, he turned the horse toward Kaidan. Nerussa forced herself to keep casting as she watched.

She fired off another Thunderbolt - thankfully the Dragon was close and she didn’t miss in her distraction - and looked on as Äelberon was briefly surrounded in pale golden light, swirling around him almost as Dragon souls did with her. A second pool of light appeared around Kaidan, then, a different pattern of motion, but brighter than that around Äelberon - who was, she supposed, unhurt. As the light died away, Kaidan stood up straight, raising a hand in thanks, and drawing his bow once more. She bit back a sob of relief and returned her full focus to Vuljotnaak. _Gods,_ she thought, _that must be the ‘Second Era shit’ Kaidan mentioned after Morthal…_

She had no idea how long the battle had taken - though when it finally did, and the storm cleared, the sun was beginning to set… Perhaps a couple of hours? The final blow was taken by Ronnie - Vuljotnaak was badly wounded, angrily lashing his tail as he stumbled toward Lucien, unable to take flight any more. Lucien stood firmly, his Ward a bright spot in the dark tundra, and Nerussa was preparing one last Thunderbolt - even with Highborn, she was close to drained - when her eye was drawn to Äelberon.

The Knight of the Crystal Tower held out his arm and it just… appeared. A beam of light, bright as morning sunlight, concentrated like a spear in his hand. He drew back his arm, took aim and let it fly, striking the Dragon in its neck, snapping the head backwards, away from Lucien, the heavy body writhing horribly before slumping to the ground. Shaking, she approached the body, filling her mind with _GRON_ , the last Word of Become Ethereal. The soul was… more than she had felt before, and it was almost as difficult as Mirmulnir, the first. Vuljotnaak had clearly been important, perhaps even the stuff of legends? As she stood, her legs feeling weak, she felt Kaidan’s arms around her, comforting in spite of the cold steel plates, and the others approached. 

Äelberon dismounted, and adjusted the front of her cloak, which had slipped sideways, his eyes twinkling. "Well, Russi, we look like a pack of drowned rats. I suggest we check on the good people of Granite Hill, with luck there will be room for us to dry off in the tavern…"

She nodded. "And perhaps a bite to eat, Ronnie? It’s long past lunch time." He grinned, and they set off, Äelberon leading Allie, and Koor following close at his heels. Her dress was heavy with rain, but at least the wool wasn't as soggy as her robes would have been. As they arrived at Granite Hill, she was relieved to see that the rain had thoroughly extinguished the farmhouse Vuljotnaak had attacked. 

Inside the tavern, Äelberon was greeted warmly by the family of the girl he had saved from Sunderstone Gorge. The people from the damaged farm were in mixed spirits - glad to be alive, but of course concerned about the cost of repairs. Nerussa excused herself for a few minutes, and slipped into the bathing room to change into dry clothes. She counted out about half of the money in her coin purse into a small pouch, and handed it quietly to the mother of the family when she emerged. 

Lucien brought her over a plate of food, which she ate without really tasting it. “Well! That was… exhilarating! _Vuljotnaak…_ I wonder if Sky Haven has any records of the Dragons buried in those mounds…” She let his chatter wash over her as she finished her meal.

***

“Well, at least the blood seal hasn’t re-activated…” Äelberon raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, walking instead toward the raised stone head, one hand stroking his beard thoughtfully, the other resting at his waist.

“Reman, obviously. And this was closed when you arrived?” He examined the head, craning his neck to try and get a look at the mechanism holding it. “Fascinating. And you had to shed blood to open it… Well, well, Nordling…” He smiled over his shoulder at her, his eyes twinkling at his old name for her, and she gestured to head up the stairs. He chuckled, and did as she suggested, his excitement at the prospect palpable. 

The four of them entered Sky Haven proper, and Nerussa was pleasantly surprised to find it had been thoroughly cleaned. A number of books were piled on the table, along with a selection of old pieces of armour and a couple of maps, in which Äelberon in particular took immediate interest. As they examined the materials in front of them, Esbern approached, and he, Äelberon and Lucien talked animatedly as they headed over to view the Wall.

As Nerussa and Kaidan climbed the steps leading to the terrace, a low light caught her eye off to one side. They followed it to a side room, equipped with beds and a simple kitchen setup, where a young Bosmer was sweeping the floor. She introduced herself as Brelas.

“I recognise you - you were serving drinks at Elenwen’s shindig, right?”

The Bosmer nodded, and gave a brief curtsy. “Yes, ma’am. It got a bit scary, once they realised you had left! I kept my head down, and Malborn sent for me a few days later. He’s knocking around here, somewhere. We took work at the Windhelm dock, at first, but thankfully Delphine got in touch, and now we’re, well… Working for her? You? Dunno. Cleaning, cooking, much the same as at the Embassy, but without the, you know, evil Thalmor bastards.”

“Well, glad it’s an improvement on that, at least! Glad to have you here, Brelas.”

***

“So, you’ve not told us that much about your trip, really. It went well, yeah?”

Nodding, she reached into her pack for her journal, and walked closer to the nearest lantern. “It did. Quite strange, at times. I met Aunt Estoril… She’s Sheogorath, now. Remember, he called himself _Auntie Sheo_ when he took me from the Palace? Saw the past. Went through _a lot_ of portals. I was in the Imperial City Prison at one point - must remember to tell Lucien that! Oh, and… I think I was in Akavir?” She held out her journal, open to the pages where she had sketched the scenery as best she could, watching as his eyes widened.

“Are you sure?” He took the notebook from her, pulling off his gauntlet to trace the lines with his fingertips.

“I mean, there wasn’t any… Proof of it, I suppose? But I can’t think where else it could have been. I’m sorry the sketches aren’t better.” He looked up quickly, and smiled softly at her.

“Don’t underestimate yourself, love. These are… I can’t tell you how much this means to me. And they may not be some great works of art, but they’re clear, and detailed, and they’re… They’re by you. Showing me what _you_ saw, you know?” He hesitated. “Could I keep one? I understand if you don’t want to start ripping up your journal, but…” 

She smiled, and took the Elven dagger from the side of her pack. Couldn’t use it in a fight, but he’d been showing her how to use it to skin rabbits and the like, how to maintain its blade. She sat on one of the small, ornamental bridges, and rested the book on the floor beside her, carefully using the very point of the dagger to cut out her favourite of the sketches. He sat next to her, a soft smile on his face, and took the paper she held out to him, tucking it carefully inside his own notebook. “Thank you. I’ll keep it safe.”

They sat for a while, Nerussa trying to give a more coherent account of her time away, until Delphine approached, clearing her throat irritably. 

“Dragonborn. If you have some time to focus, there are some matters we should discuss.” Nerussa nodded, and stood, following the Breton woman, who now wore a set of the same kind of armour that had been piled on the table inside. A distinctive design, and one she had seen on the ghosts in Sancre Tor.

***

“As you can see, we have been inventorying what was left here by our predecessors - and their predecessors. When we finish our discussion, I have a key for you. There are several sets of armour - dating to the Third Era but in fair condition, just need some of the leather components replacing, which I’ve been working on. A number of katanas, including this one, which I think one of your group should take.” She eyed Nerussa’s hip - _no, Delphine, still no sword_ \- with a wrinkled nose, and handed her a fine, light blade. Similar in style to Kaidan’s nodachi, but far smaller. Perhaps a good fit for Lucien. “Its name is Dragonbane, there are some records of its construction in the archive. As you can imagine, it holds a strong enchantment, very useful against Dragons, but of some use against other enemies, too.”

The Breton glanced over at the group talking animatedly by the Wall, and ushered Nerussa toward a nearby stone door. Inside, she lit a few candles and took a seat. “This is the Dragonguard Archive - augmented, naturally, by the Blades, when they were using the place. You may find this book interesting.” She handed over a large, slim volume - _The Atlas of Dragons_. “Now, we should talk frankly.”

Nerussa nodded, and sat facing her, slipping the book into her pack. “Very well. So, you’ve got yourself a pair of housekeepers, are you thinking of recruiting anyone else?”

She was surprised when Delphine laughed at that. “Maybe all that time in Riverwood domesticated me a little too much. But yes, recruitment. Obviously, since the Thalmor have been hunting us for the last thirty-odd years, it’s been… Challenging, to say the least. And of course hard to know who to trust. Perhaps, though, now we have this base of operations… Well, you’re more able to go out into the world. If you meet anyone with the right potential?”

Nerussa nodded. She was still sorting through her opinions on the Blades, but certainly something could be done.

“Remember, though, being a Blade is a lifelong commitment. Their loyalty has to be with us, once they’re in.” She gave Nerussa a very strange look, but said nothing more.

“Certainly. No Lydia, then!” Delphine scowled, and shook her head.

“No, nobody with ties. Second point of order… You do realise who that is, right? The damned great Elf out there?”

“Naturally. What do you know of him?”

The Breton rubbed at the corner of her mouth with a thumb. “Know the Thalmor want him dead. _Big_ bounty on him, which makes me inclined to think well of him, coming from them. More aliases than any Blade I ever knew, but the name that stands out is the Pale Elf, and of course the epithet Slayer of Bet.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “Can he still fight like he used to?” 

Nerussa laughed, and nodded. “If anything, experience has honed him, but I don’t think he’d take orders from you, if that’s what you’re thinking. Definitely not the sort of potential you’re looking for.” She cast about for a change of subject. “So, Delphine, I realise I know very little about you. I saw your Dossier in the Embassy - actually, I’ve still got it somewhere, if you want it. Anyway, you were in Summerset, shortly before the,” she hesitated for a moment, “Purge? You must have been quite young?”

“Twenty-three. Officially, I was recalled to Cyrodiil. In fact, I was… helped by a former Blades agent, of sorts. I think I mentioned her once before? She was… unofficially recruited on Vvardenfell, during the Blight. She gave me those boots you saw - enchantment on them’s a bit of a mixed blessing, to say the least, but with my innate magic resistance and a decently strong amulet to boost that, extremely useful.”

Nerussa frowned, filing her words away for the moment, having no inclination to share her immediate response with the Blade. Delphine sighed. “For a long time after the War, all I cared about was staying alive, and getting what vengeance I could on the Thalmor - mostly petty stuff, to my frustration. Then, the Dragons returned, and I remembered that we used to be Dragonslayers, and sworn to protect the greatest Dragonslayer of them all. You. We’ve always guided and guarded the Dragonborn, but over time, we had forgotten _why_. Esbern and I are all that remains of the Blades, and you’re the Dragonborn - the ‘Last’ Dragonborn, if Esbern’s prophecy is to be believed. Well, that means we have to work together, stop these Dragons, even if we have to put every last one of them in the ground.”

There was an unsettling glint in Delphine’s eye. Nerussa kept her face placid, and nodded. “Of course. Was there anything else, Delphine? I need to speak to Esbern, and we will be spending the night here.”

“Just the key. If you take a look up the stairs to the side of the bookcases, you’ll find alchemy and enchanting equipment, and some personal storage, but we’ve also found this key, which unlocks a small… apartment, I suppose, opposite Alduin’s Wall. I had Brelas clean the place up, stock it with food, light the fire, and so on. It’s yours to do with as you will, Dragonborn, although your companions may be better off in the main sleeping quarters.”

Nerussa nodded, taking the key. “Kaidan will be with me, obviously. I would appreciate it if you could resist the urge to scowl at him whenever I look his way. My private life is not your concern.”

It was Delphine’s turn to force a placid look onto her face, Nerussa suspected. “Very well. So long as you keep your priorities in the right order, Dragonborn…”

***

She wasn’t overly surprised to find that Esbern had no better suggestion than Lucien’s - ask at the College about Elder Scrolls. Äelberon, on the other hand, had something to offer.

"Well, if you're going to the College, you'll want to speak to Urag, the librarian, of course, and to Septimus Signus, I believe he's the specialist."

She ran through the names of staff members she'd encountered. "I was planning to ask Urag, but I don't remember a Septimus…"

"Well, he was there last time I spoke to Urag," Äelberon shrugged. “We can ask the Orc.”

As they ate their evening meal, Lucien gushed about Äelberon’s insights into Alduin’s Wall, causing the older Mer’s ears to flush, before he relented and shared some of his thoughts. Nothing that would be of practical use in tracking down the Scroll, but certainly fascinating historical perspectives - Kaidan, naturally, paid particularly close attention as he spoke.

The apartment was small enough to be kept comfortably warm by the blazing fire Brelas had set, and surprisingly well-appointed. 

“Not sure about that… sword… chandelier, thing, though…” Kaidan chuckled, and set off to look for a ladder - even at his height, it would be a tricky job to get it down just by standing on the dining table beneath it.

While he was gone, she wandered into the bedroom, where she found a low table, laid out with the plates from an ornate set of heavy, black armour, inlaid with golden designs including a pair of serpentine Dragons on what she thought were the breastplates. An accompanying note from Esbern explained that it appeared to be from the late First Era - perhaps crafted for Reman Cyrodiil, though it appeared to be for a much larger man than any Imperial she’d encountered. She picked up a couple of the smaller pieces, and went to find Äelberon.

“Do you think it would be possible to restore this? It seemed like all the plates and so on were there, but obviously the… leather, or cloth, or whatever, has long since rotted away. I thought…”

He smiled at her. “It would be a good fit for Kaidan, perhaps? I would naturally need to examine the pieces myself, but I am sure something can be done. To really do it justice, I’d need to dye the leather black, and perhaps add some gold detailing… Not the work of an afternoon, you understand?”

She nodded. “I’m planning to spend tomorrow at Riverfall, and then we need to head to the College.”

He interrupted, excitement on his face once more. “Winterhold! Can't wait to see that old Orc again, you know he and I--"

“I’m… not sure it would be ideal for you to come along, Ronnie. Not this time, at least. I imagine you know Ancano, you seem to know all the higher-ups? Well, he’s an ‘advisor’ there, and I would rather avoid too much fuss. Only planning to be there for an hour or two, speak to Urag, check if there’s anything else I need to be getting on with, maybe pick up some spell tomes. Would you mind staying at Riverfall and working on this? If you don’t have any other plans?”

His face had begun to fall as soon as she had opened her mouth again, and at the mention of Ancano’s name it was obvious he knew what she was driving at. He was chewing the inside of his lip, now, she thought, and his face was a mask - not placid, that was more something trained into female Altmer, but blank, aside from the corner of his mouth, working away, and - of course - the eyes. Finally he spoke, flatly. “Very well.” 

She tried to contain her frustration, knowing some small measure of why he was reacting this way - skulking around, unable to go about freely was not an enjoyable way to live, and he had been subject to it for so much longer than she had, and was in far less of a position to simply decide to stop. “Thank you, Ronnie. I do understand your frustration, at least to some degree. I just don’t have a clear picture of the situation at the College, especially after Saarthal, and don't want anything to happen - I was nobody back home, so I've slipped well beneath his notice, at least while looking like this. But you… He'd know you in an instant. And I don't trust for a moment that he wouldn't do something stupid."

A short nod. “I completely understand and you have my sincere apologies.”

She smiled, but his eyes still looked far away. She decided to drop the subject for the time being, and head to bed. If they planned to stay here again, she would definitely have to see about getting a better bed, or at least an actual mattress, but it would do for tonight. She was still weary to her bones from fighting Vuljotnaak, and barely noticed the prickly straw around the edges of the furs as she drifted off while Kaidan dismantled the damn chandelier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Had a bit of a break due to a flare up of chronic illness stuff and so on. Hopefully back, now.


	128. Chapter 128

They made good time the following morning, although Nerussa found herself increasingly frustrated at not being able to ride. She gave some thought to whether Lucien might be able to ride double, but she wasn’t sure if even the sturdy Skyrim horses would be able to comfortably carry him with either herself or Kaidan for the longer journeys they might take. Still, they arrived at Riverfall by mid morning, splitting off to bathe, Lucien taking the cellar room, both Äelberon and Kaidan heading to the river to clean their armour before themselves, and Nerussa going up to her own bathroom. 

When she was clean, she drifted over to her desk, putting away a few things from her pack, and checking her letter to Senna was still in its hiding place.

It wasn’t.

_**2nd Morning Star, 4e202** (please note the year, darling girl!)_

_Well! I wonder how long it will take you to find this. If all goes to plan, and in these matters, I am quite able to make certain it does, it will be exactly where you left your letter, moments after I finish writing._

_So, surprises indeed. I cannot yet tell you everything, though I imagine you have indeed begun to suspect much of the truth. You are certainly correct that dear Tyermaillin was not the Mer I married, though he was kind enough to allow his name on the paperwork I brought back to Alinor. Your other suspicions I can only guess at, though my cards suggest you are as bright as ever, and have come into contact with the type of detail that your mind loves to untangle._

_I never visited Skyrim, but when I was on Solstheim it was, so all the Nords there boasted (and everyone else, including your grandfather in his ridiculous bear helmet, bemoaned) very like the Northern parts of Skyrim, with great mountains, frozen lakes, and pine trees everywhere. Not to mention the snow, though I minded that less, after a time. If you ever get the chance, you should visit Solstheim, though I understand it is very changed._

_And naturally, I am delighted to hear you have found someone to love, even if he has silly, round ears. Better a Man who treats you as you deserve, than a Mer like that one you wasted a decade with. That may be my one regret, that I did not steer you away from him, but he was your mistake to make, just as I have made plenty of my own. I should imagine he's rather better in bed than that stuck up prick, yes? Good for you! And no, don't panic, I haven't asked the cards that. As for houses, well, not to brag, but you should see the homes I had on Vvardenfell. _

_I do hope you don't mind that I saw your letter, darling. It did my cold, old heart good. Give my fond regards to the Priest, and if you ever meet someone called Neloth, tell him the Archmagister will be along with his blasted robe, any day now._

_All my love - no beautiful Man or Mer in my bed - Senna_

Nerussa sat on the bed. Read the letter again. Magic, obviously but… How? What spell would allow for that? As she mulled it over, though, she remembered the letter that had somehow arrived at the Embassy before she had, and stood up to find Aunt Estoril’s bundle of letters. Yes, several mentions of not knowing how Senna had managed to get a reply to her when she wasn’t staying long in any particular place… She rubbed her temple, and put the letters back. She was very tempted to put a sheet of paper with only a large question mark on, in the place where she had left her first letter, but decided to wait until after she’d been to the College and had time to think.

She needed some fresh air, and took herself out onto the balcony, staring out at the river for a few minutes, before turning and catching sight of Äelberon, working the forge. She rubbed the back of her neck, worried about his reaction to her asking him to stay behind. Well, she supposed she hadn’t precisely _asked._ She was reasonably sure he would be safe while they were gone - he had promised, after all - but she didn’t like that she had upset him. 

“Can you not hear him?” She started slightly at the sound of Kaidan’s voice - she had been so lost in thought that she hadn’t heard the door - just as well he wasn’t some assassin, she thought to herself. She frowned, and tried to focus. After a few moments, she caught it - Äelberon was whistling.

“I think he were… Praying, earlier? How it seemed, any road. Don’t think he realised I were still there. Maybe it’s done him some good. Or started on that path, at least. Lovely voice he’s got, shame he don’t sing more.”

A pang of sadness hit her, remembering the harshness of her own music teachers. She had a pretty fair idea why Ronnie didn’t sing in front of people much, more likely than not it boiled down to the same reason she didn’t, why she struggled so much to draw, much less show anyone anything she drew.

She sighed, and Kaidan wordlessly looped one arm around her waist. “I hope I’m doing the right thing, not insisting on trying to fix things? I don’t know. I think it would make it worse. Maybe if he has a couple of days, spends some time at the forge… He’ll work through it?”

She felt Kaidan nod behind her. “Aye, could be. I think you’re probably right not to push him too hard, although… don’t think you should be too delicate with him, neither. It’s, like as not, difficult for someone like him. Been by himself mostly, from what I’ve gathered, for such a long time, and used to… Not necessarily going wherever he pleases, but setting his own restrictions, maybe? To some extent. Probably hard to go from that to having someone he actually gives a shit about, telling him not to go somewhere, even if it’s as much for his own good as anything.” He paused. “Doubt it helps matters that you’ve got a point, either. Remember how pissy I was about not coming with you and Lucien to the College that time?”

“I seem to remember you trying to get me tipsy and saving me from falling to my death, actually. But yes, something like that, too.”

He chuckled, and kissed the back of her neck. “ _I_ seem to remember bringing you food - which you didn’t touch - in order to keep you from getting too tipsy, _actually_. But yes, I do remember catching you on the bridge. Not too different to how I’m holding you now, by my recollection… Maybe that’s a thought for later, though. Lucien’s been looking through that Atlas of Dragons - think there’s something you should come and see, might want to bring your notebook.”

Curious, she followed him to Lucien’s room, where the Atlas was spread open on the desk. A highly detailed map of the area between Windhelm and a place called Heljarchen - where the Nightgate Inn now stood, she thought - was on the left page, and a great deal of cramped writing covered the other. The only word she could make out at a glance was probably the only one she needed. _Viinturuth_. The name carved into the stone at Northwind. She drew closer, and examined the writing as best she could. _Buried near Lake Yorgrim_. She made a few notes, and copied a bare-bones version of the map, focused on the burial mound, into her journal. 

Lucien cleared his throat. “You know, this really is quite a fascinating document. You don’t really _need_ me to come and speak to Urag, do you? Little nervous about getting close to that Orb thing again, if they’ve moved it…” She looked at him, surprised at the thought of Lucien not wanting to visit the College, but couldn’t really fault his logic.

“No, if you’d rather stay here, that’s entirely fine. Guess you're stuck with just me for a few days, Kaidan.” His eyes flashed, and a smirk crossed his face.

“However will I cope?”

***

On hired horses, they made good time to Windhelm the following day. Ulundil greeted Nerussa as warmly as ever, although he seemed in lower spirits than usual as he led the horses to a pair of stalls to rest and feed. 

“Is anything wrong, Ulundil?”

The Southerner sighed. “Rumarin’s… other work finally caught up to ’im. He’s currently enjoying the Jarl’s hospitality, as it were.”

She was a little shocked, but did her best not to show it. “I’m sorry to hear that, Ulundil. I hope it hasn’t caused any problems for you?”

“Fortunately, his work on my ledgers was entirely above board, though I’ll admit, I was worried he might’ve… Well, slipped up, say. Just means a bit less ’elp around the stables. Though to be honest, he was… Well, I don’t like to speak ill of someone I call cousin, but… Well, he wasn’t _that_ much help, of late, truth be told.” He looked a little shame-faced, and more than a little annoyed.

“I’m sorry, Ulundil. It’s not my place, of course, but it sounds as though perhaps he was… taking advantage, somewhat?” He nodded, sighed, and said he should get back to work, preparing feed bags for their horses, and waving as she and Kaidan left to cross the bridge into the city.

“City’s almost in ruins, it’s clear Windhelm’s Jarl’s mind is elsewhere…” Kaidan muttered, grimly looking around as they passed through the main gate. 

“Certainly is - have Lucien and I not told you about the murders?” He raised an eyebrow, and as they headed to the New Gnisis for lunch, she explained about the guard being ‘stretched too thin’ to do anything about the situation, to the point that the pair of them had stepped in, and solved the case in an afternoon. After they’d eaten, they dropped by the White Phial, to ask after Nurelion.

“Still no better, although not really any worse, either. I have been…” Quintus glanced upwards, and lowered his voice. “I’ve looked through his notes, and I think I may know how to repair the Phial. I’ll need some rather specific ingredients, though…” He looked at Nerussa with a hopeful expression, and when she nodded, he smiled tightly and handed her a piece of paper.

_There are three crucial elements. Some may be easier to find than others. On the top of the Throat of the World is a patch of Unmelting Snow. No heat can touch it. Then we need the tusk of a mammoth, ground to a fine powder as only the giants know how. The final step is tricky. It requires the briar heart from a Forsworn of the Reach._

Tucking the paper into her journal, Nerussa smiled and briefly patted the Imperial’s hand. “I’m sure we can manage this.”

***

After a short ride, they reached Anga's Mill, a small settlement along the road to Winterhold. They had planned to ask to leave the horses while they investigated Viinturuth's burial site, but as they approached the mill owner, a commotion broke out.

"Aeri! There's a body in the water!" The colour drained from the Nord woman's face, and she followed the man down to the river. Nerussa left Kaidan with the horses, and kept pace with the Nords.

As they reached the shore, the current washed the battered corpse of a man up at their feet. 

"Ennodius? Well, shit." The man ran a hand through his yellow hair, and hauled the body onto dry land. "How in the world..?"

Aeri stood with her arms folded, and frowned down at the body. "Best not to speculate, Leifur…" She turned to Nerussa. "Need some help? As you can see, we're… in the middle of something."

"I was going to ask if we could leave our horses with you for an hour or two, but obviously now isn't the time." 

The miller eyed Nerussa, before coming to a decision. "That'll be fine, but I'll need to ask a favour in return. I've a letter for Jarl Skald, up in Dawnstar and, well… The guard should be notified of this. Probably just got drunk and stumbled into the water, but…" 

Damn, Dawnstar was very much out of their way, but she couldn't really deny someone should be informed. "Of course. We should be back for the horses in an hour or two." 

The woman handed over the letter, sighed, and turned back towards the water. "Leave them with my other worker, Kodrir."

***

“Just ask the question, Lucien.”

The Imperial started, and blushed. He had spent the day trying not to get under Äelberon’s feet, while seemingly unable to bring himself to do anything but. The Mer had been most gracious about it, which only made him feel worse. It was just… Divines, the things he must _know_ , the… The _history_ he had _witnessed!_

He looked over at Äelberon, and was relieved to see a glint of amusement in his eyes, betraying the apparent stern look he was being treated to.

“Which one?” He felt a sheepish grin appear on his face, and the Mer at the forge chuckled.

“I generally start with the first one that pops into my mind.” 

“Well, then. You said you met my mother? Would you tell me more about that?”

Äelberon nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. “It says a lot about who you are as a person, that you ask of family first.” He chuckled again, before continuing. “Most ask if I know of treasure. How much has she told you of that night? When we fought Naarifin, along with the Forgotten Hero?”

“Not much. She worries about me, you know. I’ve gathered the general shape of things, of course, not hard to find the official version of events, or convince some of her old colleagues to share the odd scrap of it. But I think a lot has been… left out.” 

Another nod. As he gave his account, Äelberon began working on a small piece of metal - as Lucien watched, it took the form of an arrowhead, and the Mer moved on to make another, and another, until two piles of a dozen sat by the forge. Lucien found his attention split between learning more about the battle which led to his mother’s retirement, and intrigue at the hollow-pointed design. Kaidan’s armour was largely finished, it seemed, only awaiting a few more intricate pieces being ready, laid out on a large workbench at the end of the forge area. Beside it sat what looked like more partially completed projects - some kind of belt, by the look of things, and what Lucien thought might be the back half of a leather brigandine.

When he was done with his tale, he picked up one of the arrowheads, and a small piece of window glass. “Notice the small indent in the point of the arrow, Lucien?” The Imperial nodded, and did not bother to hide his curious expression. “I’m going to show you how to add an elemental charge. I will show you how to forge the arrowheads later, once you have the hang of this.”

***

Nerussa almost expected to find Alduin at the burial mound, but as they drew close, it was clear he had already visited. No sign of Viinturuth, either.

"Maybe he's gone to claim his old territory?" She took off one glove, and began carefully running her hands over the small standing stones set on four sides of the circular mound. As she expected, eventually her fingertips found a small, wrong-feeling place on one stone. She called Kaidan over from where he stood, watching, and suggested he give the stone a good, hard kick, indicating where to aim.

The lower half of the stone crumbled, revealing a hollowed-out area, containing a small bundle wrapped in tattered cloth. Carefully withdrawing it, she sat on the edge of the stone ring that had encircled the tomb, and examined the contents. A circlet, necklace and ring, all enchanted, but she couldn't readily identify what they did. Tucked carefully inside the bundle was a sealed envelope, which she held out to Kaidan, along with the jewellery.

"There's a letter here. I think you should be the one to open it…"

Kaidan looked down at the letter in her hand, and took a deep breath before nodding and taking it, ignoring the rest. Leaning against another of the stones, he pulled off his gauntlets, unsealed the pages and read them quietly. 

"By the gods… It…" He ran a hand over his face. "Can it be possible, after all these years..?"

His face was full of emotion, and she could only guess at parts of it. "Are you all right?"

He paused. "Yeah… Yes. I will be? There's just a lot written here. Think I need some time to… take it in. I'll fetch the horses." She watched as he headed back to the Mill, and drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders. 

***

Kaidan was still quiet when they arrived at Dawnstar, so Nerussa suggested he meet her in the tavern after she spoke with the Jarl. Skald of the Pale was almost a caricature of a Nord, bare-armed in a fireless Hall, glaring angrily at the Altmer who dared approach his throne.

"Good evening, my Jarl. I am Thane Nerussa of the Rift. I bring a message from Aeri at Anga's Mill, and have also been asked to report a possibly suspicious death near the Mill this afternoon." She gave a small bow, and held out the letter Aeri had given her.

The man before her eyed the paper suspiciously, and called for his servant, an even more disagreeable man, by the look of him. "Bulfrek, examine this." The servant grimaced and did as he was told.

"It appears to be genuine, my Jarl." He passed the letter across, and returned to his sweeping.

"Very well. And you said something about a body."

She explained what she had seen, confirmed that she had come from the opposite direction to the man's camp, and was summarily dismissed. 

Returning to the tavern, she found Kaidan sitting in a corner, still lost in thought. She sat beside him, and put her hand on the table in front of them. After a brief pause, he covered it with his own, and gave a gentle squeeze.

"You've been quiet, Aida…"

He chuckled softly. "Aye, Neri, and sorry I have been." He sighed, and turned to look at her. "I'm doing all right, I promise you. Just… that letter gave me a lot to think about, you know?" 

"Maybe it would help to talk about it?"

He paused for a moment, and gave a soft hum of agreement. "I think you may be right, there. No use staying stuck in my own head, maybe sharing it with you… Yeah. Well, the letter, it was… From my mother. You should probably read it, here."

The letter had been written when, by the sound of it, Kaidan was only a few weeks old, perhaps less. It explained that the items from the cache had been entrusted to the writer’s clan - his clan - to preserve for the Last Dragonborn’s arrival. The writer went on to speak of her love for her tiny son, and her hopes for his future, even as she prepared herself for the likelihood she would not be there to see it. Toward the end, she quoted the same prophecy Esbern had made Lucien write down at Sky Haven. Nerussa read it, and realised her eyes had filled with tears. She took a few moments to compose herself before speaking.

"So, the woman mentioned in the Dossier… This confirms she was your mother?" He nodded, a slightly lost look on his face.

"And I'm more grateful than words can explain that you helped me get to this point. It's… bittersweet. I wish more than ever that I knew her, but I was left with such a legacy…" He squeezed her hand. "Keep anything you like from that cache, sounds like it was meant for you, anyway. This letter's more than enough for me."

"Are you sure? Could be useful enchantments…"

"Got the only jewellery I need, right here," he said, pulling the leather cord of the amulet she had given him out from the neck of his tunic, and smiling at her. "I were looking for my past, not treasure. It's so strange, how prophetic her words have turned out to be…" 

She looked again at the letter. _For some nights now, I have dreamed of you, not as the infant in my arms, but a grown man. You walk over snow and ice in the darkest night, when the sun finally rises, turning the sky to fire, and dragons soar from the horizon, and someone is beside you._

"Do you think it was… fate, that we met?" She suddenly felt shy in a way she hadn't in some time, and found herself blushing as she met his eye. He grinned, and raised an eyebrow.

"The Last Dragonborn, and one of the last Akaviri on Tamriel? Does sound mighty suspicious, as far as destiny's concerned, eh? Still, I like to think we chose what came of it, to be together, more than being pushed to it by Fate or something." He rubbed his neck, a thoughtful look on his face. "Mind you, if history keeps repeating… Perhaps you'll have a new Empire to build, and a new Dragonguard to go with it?" 

She thought of the armour Äelberon was working on, back at Riverfall. "Kaidan, first of the Dragonguard? Certainly has a good ring to it…" He chuckled, and puffed out his chest, grinning at her.

"Aye, it does! I sound more important than you, now!" 

"Still, empire building can wait, still got a lot of world to explore… Not to mention, not sure Lucien would be too keen on me marching into the Imperial City and trying to take over!"

He laughed again, and ran a hand through her hair. "Ever the ruler of your own fate, eh? Here's to all the adventures, still out there waiting!" He took a sip of his snowberry mead, and kissed her, softly. For a moment, she thought she caught a flash of an unusual melody, a Khajiiti tune, perhaps, but no, the local bard was hollering a particularly spirited rendition of _The Dragonborn Comes._ Kaidan raised an eyebrow, stood, and held out his hand. "Come on, we should get to bed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! I'm very much still working on this but I got a little burned out as you can probably tell - wrote tons and tons etc. Also having a big flare up of chronic illness plus, you know. 2020 is certainly a weird time. Hope to get another chapter up in the next month or so and get back in the swing of things!


	129. Chapter 129

** 18th Morning Star, 4e202 **

Writing this in the Frozen Hearth, when we should have been back at Riverfall by now. Have sent Lucien two buzzes on the Resonant Sphere, so he should know we’re fine, at least. Spent last night in Dawnstar. Pretty depressing place. It’s a port, but clearly far less prosperous than those at Solitude and Windhelm - I’m not even entirely sure what the point of it is, to be honest. I suppose it’s a place where ships can stop in a storm on their way to one of the others? And presumably they ship ore from the mines to Windhelm.

Either way, it seems some of the residents are having nightmares - perhaps the result of the miserable atmosphere surrounding them? We were woken by an almighty yell from the bard, who appears to be the innkeeper’s daughter. She seemed even more distraught than I was when I woke from those nightmares about L. We didn’t stick around long after breakfast, made decent time along the road to Winterhold - whoever’s in Fort Kastav, they weren’t bothering with patrols this morning, which is fine by me! 

Made it to Winterhold in time for a late lunch, and only then realised that, even with his silvered greatsword in place of his nodachi, Aida’s armour (combined with, well, everything about him) was a dead giveaway, if Ancano had any correspondence with Cyrelian, it’s likely it would have included a description of the armour. Not much we can do about his tattoo, or his physicality, but it seemed sensible to draw focus as little as possible, so I ended up asking the tavern’s resident former College mage - an Altmer named Nelacar, apparently kicked out of the College due to ‘failed experiments’, which made me raise an eyebrow… Worse than Brelyna’s and J’zargo’s? Or do theirs not count as they’re still students?

Where was I? Oh, yes - I asked him if he could lend us a set of robes. He’s a little taller than most Altmer I’ve known, not as tall as Ronnie, or even Aida, and slimmer than either of them, but close enough that a somewhat loose-fitting set of his robes worked well enough on Aida for an hour or two on the College grounds, with his hair loose to somewhat obscure the tattoo. He looks rather good in red, I must say... Thankfully, Ancano was too absorbed in some spat with Nirya to pay attention to either of us, though I’m still pretty certain he’d have noticed Ronnie. 

Other than that, Urag refused to tell me anything useful about the Scrolls until we’ve tracked down some stolen books that he thinks may be relevant to the Orb which now hangs in the lecture hall - apparently it took them almost until Old Life to figure out how to move it. He did accept Ronnie’s letter, at least, and it got a chuckle out of him, which I’m not sure I’d have thought him capable of. Called him a ‘tusker’, which is one I’ve not heard before, though I could guess the rough meaning. Apparently Ronnie’s responsible for half of the ‘more interesting’ books in the Arcanaeum (probably the ones that are chained to the shelves, for a start…)

So, we'll need to head for a place called Fellglow Keep. Via home, though, don’t want to keep Ronnie and Lucien waiting any longer than necessary, and I’d like to pass on Urag’s reply as soon as I can, hopefully it will soften things for Ronnie... 

I think this is the first real chance I’ve had to stop and think, after my trip to the Alik’r. We stopped in Riverfall for a day, but I was largely worrying about Ronnie. It’s only actually been, what, four days, but it feels like weeks, somehow. 

Gods, I wonder if Senna knows? I mean, she seems to know… most things, at least relating to our family. I suppose that can go in my reply to her, when I figure out what else to say. I just… can’t wrap my head around it. Auntie Estoril is Sheogorath? It’s… Well, mad! Senna’s baby sister is a Daedric Prince? Definitely wondering more and more what else I don’t know about my family. Definitely starting to think Senna’s got more secrets than just my grandfather not being Altmer.

It seems so unfair, though, Estoril wasn’t even forty when she went to Cyrodiil, and it can’t have been more than a year or two before… Whatever it was, happened? I wish she’d been more coherent, easier to follow, but… Well, I suppose being the Mad God wouldn’t really be conducive to that. Still such a strange thought that she went from being involved in ending Dagon’s invasion to… that. I don’t know. 

It’s an awful lot to take in, along with… so many other things that I’m avoiding thinking about, if I’m honest. Not least the Greybeards’ ‘greeting’, and not to mention the dream I had at High Hrothgar - though the longer ago it was, the more I think it must have just been a normal dream? 

Regardless, I just don’t even know where to begin with ‘you are Ysmir now,’ and I have no idea how to even ask them about it - do they mean literally, like how the Nerevarine was supposed to be Indoril Nerevar reborn? Metaphorically - I am expected to be like Ysmir, whatever that means? I know it’s not… healthy to just ignore this stuff, but honestly, I don’t know that I dare start trying to deal with it when I’ve got so much I need to do?

In any case, it’s time to finish writing, because we’ve somehow agreed to go looking for some rusty old helm for the local Jarl - he thinks it may be in some shipwreck to the east of here, or otherwise in a Barrow near Windhelm, so I suppose we’ll have to see if the horses can be taken home by someone from the stable, in the morning. 

My money’s on the Barrow, although to be honest I’m curious to investigate the place anyway, as the local trader sold me a Dragon Claw which is supposedly related to the same Barrow for an absurdly low price. It’s made of coral, which has made me rather homesick for the Isles, of course. If the helm is in the shipwreck, we’ll bring it back tomorrow, otherwise, the Jarl can wait. Either way, early start, and I’ve got to finish this spell tome. Alteration tomes are always so… muddling.

***

The wind whipped the strands of hair not tucked inside Nerussa’s hood around her face, and she swore under her breath. The snow had started falling suddenly, and she could barely see beyond her outstretched hand. Fortunately, Kaidan was close by, and his armour made enough noise that even when he was out of sight, she could still hear him. They were somewhere a short way along the coast from Winterhold, edging along the shoreline toward the rough location of the shipwreck Korir had mentioned. 

“It’s fucking _freezing_ , Neri, we should put up the tent, get some shelter…”

She nodded, frustrated, and they set to work. They’d picked up a smaller tent in Winterhold, along with a decent supply of firewood, all stashed in Kaidan’s pack, and soon enough they were huddled in the tent. Kaidan had built a small fire inside a tall ring of piled-up rocks, saying it should attract less attention from nearby wildlife. Just as well they’d sent the horses back along the road rather than bringing them, she thought, as she rubbed her feet, trying to bring the feeling back.

Gradually, the snowstorm passed, and they packed up and moved on. After a short walk, Kaidan spotted a dark shape on a small, nearby island. The water looked shallow, but it was hard to tell, and Nerussa sighed, pulling the rather expensive Waterstride potion from her pack and handing it to Kaidan. She drew a deep breath and cast the spell she had spent the previous evening studying. 

A strange feeling washed over her lower body, pooling in her feet, and she could see a faint violet glow underneath them. She put one foot carefully out and lowered it to the water’s surface, as Kaidan watched, swallowing his potion. The water's surface gave a little, but her foot stayed very much on top of it. She took Kaidan's hand, and they both walked, cautiously, across the water to the rocky islet. 

As they rounded the rocks, a small fire came into view, sheltered from the wind by the split hull of the ship. Two armoured figures huddled next to it, a third standing lookout. Nerussa and Kaidan approached slowly, hands empty, but as they got closer, the lookout picked up a heavy-looking hammer that was leaning against the drier half of the ship.

"That's close enough!"

"We're not looking for a fight, I just need to look for something…"

The other two figures stood, drawing their weapons, and one laughed. "Think if there was anything worth having here, we'd not have found it? That's just insulting!"

It wasn't much of a fair fight, the three bandits had evidently been subsisting along the coastline for some time, and were half-frozen. After it was done, Nerussa began searching the wreck. She didn't really expect to find the helm, but there was something… familiar about the ragged, rotten banners still visible on the one dry wall. Dunmeri, she thought. There were a few waterlogged chests sat in the freezing water, but the wreck had obviously been there so long that anything in them would be long-ruined.

Finally, she scrambled up the steep incline of the deck, ignoring Kaidan's protests, and into a small cabin. She sat in the middle of the floor, feet braced against the wall, and pushed away the discomfort in her head caused by how skewiff everything was. She shuffled closer to the large desk that took up most of the cabin, and began opening drawers. She had given up on the helm, hoping Yngol Barrow was a better choice, but something told her…

_"Ha!"_

Kaidan appeared in the doorway, a curious look on his face.

"Ship's manifest. The Pride of Tel Vos. Pass me my journal, would you, it should be near the top of my pack." He did so, and she flicked through until she reached the right page. "I knew it! This is the ship Brand-Shei was looking for…"

After some more searching, her fingers closed on a slim volume bearing the same emblem as the tattered banners. A brief note in the front confirmed that it was written by Brand-Shei's father - a noble of House Telvanni - and brought on the ship by a former wet nurse, hoping to find the lost boy. Nerussa put the two journals carefully back in her pack, held out by an apparently unphased Kaidan, who helped her out of the cabin and back to nice, sturdy, freezing cold land. 

***

“Did you know there was an Altmer Harbinger at Jorrvaskr, once? Henantier, I believe his name was, there was a chapter on him in Swyk the Long-Sighted’s _Great Harbingers_.”

They were eating lunch on a bench, looking past the thriving sapling to the great, upturned-boat mead hall of Jorrvaskr. Lucien wondered, as he often did, how much of the boat had been replaced, over the millennia, whether any original part of it remained, and - most importantly - whether that meant it was still the same ship. 

Äelberon nodded, glancing at the building with less interest than Lucien might have expected. “Aye, he was among the greatest of my clan. How much do you know of traditional Altmer religious practice? Beyond the main pantheon, I mean.”

Looking closer, Lucien could see that there was more than he had first noticed in Äelberon’s expression. He wasn’t lacking interest in the place, he almost looked… Pained by it, perhaps. On a surface level, his face retained its usual composure, but there were tell-tale signs of what Lucien rather suspected to be a maelstrom of emotions underneath it all. It reminded him a little of his own reaction to first hearing Heimskr’s ranting, before he’d blown up at Nerussa about it. Time for a change of subject, he felt.

“Not an awful lot, and I imagine it’s far too interesting a topic to truncate to a brief lunchtime chat? Perhaps we could discuss further back at Riverfall?” Äelberon nodded, and Lucien tried to think of something else to talk about. “So, you said you came to services here, yesterday?”

“That I did. A Dusken always pays his debts, Lucien, and I owe Danica much."

"I see. So, you were there for Danica rather than Kynareth, yes? As far as I understand it, she has no direct equivalent in the Altmer pantheon..?"

Äelberon chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “Jorrvaskr would be a better topic, son! Certainly a shorter one - never get a student theologian talking about the gods, unless you’re prepared for a sore backside from sitting too long!”

“Well, I’d certainly be fascinated to hear your thoughts, but yes, I suppose this may not be the time.” He looked around, and caught sight of Heimskr making his way to his usual pitch. “Indeed, it rather looks as though perhaps lunch time is over?”

Lucien got to his feet, and Äelberon looked past him, giving a small nod as he caught sight of the Priest. “He’s a blowhard. It is easier to listen, when the wind is calm.” His eyes looked a little far away, Lucien thought, though he didn’t get long to look at them, as the Altmer stood, leaving Lucien at eye level to his chest, considering his words.

“In any case, let us return to the Temple - there are plenty more in need of healing.”

***

As they walked through the frozen halls of Yngol Barrow - remarkable in its emptiness - Nerussa found herself gradually accumulating a crowd of small, brilliant motes of light. They danced along beside her, skittering away from Kaidan as he followed. 

“Any idea what these things might be, Neri?”

“Not really - perhaps spirits, of some kind? They look a little like my Guiding Wisp, I suppose, though without the sort of whooshy trail. Only ever encountered Wisps of the non-Guiding variety once, back in the Isles, but they were a lot… angrier than these?” She frowned, and carried on, down an ice-covered passageway which finally opened into a small chamber.

Alcoves set into two of the walls held the usual rotating columns bearing Nordic totems, and each was… she supposed decorated was the word, differently. Actually, no, as she moved further into the room, she saw that the fourth alcove held a metal and stone throne, on which sat a skull and a few bones, the rest of the skeleton having long-since fallen to the floor. It was brightly lit by the same seemingly-eternal candles they had seen in other ruins, unlike the other three alcoves.

The fourth wall of the room held a plain, iron gate, slumped in front of which was the frozen body of a well-dressed Altmer, face down, with something stuck in his neck. Kaidan moved the body, underneath which was a large, metal lever, and a thin notebook.

Reading the journal, it became painfully obvious what had happened - the Mer was affiliated to some College - perhaps Winterhold, perhaps one elsewhere… She doubted the College of Sapiarchs would have any interest in sending someone to a ruin like this, surely only of interest to Nords. She shook herself. He had found the room, and initially thought it impassible, and taken the time to transcribe the carvings, and translate what was written - curious, an Altmer knowledgeable about ancient Nordic language? In any case, he had utterly overlooked the columns in three of the alcoves, but finally noticed the lever and pulled it, proving himself to be about on par with the bandit back in Bleak Falls Barrow who had done the exact same thing.

Nerussa sighed and read the transcriptions, hoping they were at least accurate. Well, that was painfully obvious. A brief poem - _Man in his throne, so should he be…_ Four lines describing, essentially, the correct positions for each of the columns, which she set up accordingly. The door swung open easily with a single pull of the lever, and the lights danced through it.

Finally, they came to a puzzle door, and opened it easily with the Claw. Beyond it was a small room, a draught hitting them from the far side as they stepped across the top of the puzzle door. Another throne stood, back toward them, a skeletal arm and the tip of a pair of horns just visible on the other side. As Nerussa moved toward the throne, the lights began dancing frantically, swarming around her and the skeleton.

“Neri, wait…” Kaidan’s hand was on her arm, and she looked back at him, then at the throne once more. As she watched, a spectre rose from within the skeleton, and drew an equally spectral blade. 

_YOL!_

The spectre staggered, wreathed in flames, and Kaidan slashed at it with his silvered sword. Moments later, the room was empty aside from the pair of them - the lights had simply disappeared as what she found herself thinking of as the Shade of Yngol was despatched. 

She sank onto the throne, as Kaidan rummaged through a chest, finally grinning and pulling out a grimy, rust-covered helm. “Probably a fair bet this is the helm Korrir wanted, right?” 

She nodded, and held open her pack for him to put it inside. In front of her feet, lay the bones of presumably-Yngol, wearing a rather more ornate helm, complete with the most ridiculous horns Nerussa had seen on anything. She shuddered slightly at the memory of the repellent horned helm they had found in Wolfskull Cave, but whatever that had been, ‘ridiculous’ was a difficult word to apply to it. 

“Better pick that up, too - might be of interest to Auryen, I’d say.” Kaidan nodded, and helped her to her feet before picking up the helm, at which they heard a rumbling sound, as a door in the gloomy space beyond the throne swung open. Beyond it lay a spiral staircase, leading to another door which took them out to a hillside overlooking the sea.

“Right, best start on our way home, eh?” Kaidan put an arm around her, and kissed her hair, before adjusting his pack, taking her hand, and setting off in the direction of Windhelm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness, it's finally done! It's probably rubbish but IT'S DONE, I HAVE PUT IT UP! ONWARDS! AND SO ON! Thanks to everyone who has said nice things and stuff and if anyone's still reading, I hope you're all doing okay!


End file.
